


Letters From the Underworld

by VioletAstrid



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Finds Out, Canon Era, Eventual Smut, Kidnapping, Kink Meme, M/M, Magic Revealed, Merlin's Magic Revealed, Mythology - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Quests, Slow Burn, Underworld
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-11-02 10:58:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10943103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletAstrid/pseuds/VioletAstrid
Summary: Based on an old Kink Meme Prompt:Death has stolen Merlin and now all of Albion is dying. The Gods reveal and Demand that Merlin be rescued at all cost for he is the Avatar of Albion's Magic, the lands life force; and whoever brings him back will rule Merlin and Albion destiny be damned.Arthur just wants his Merlin (together or not together, u pick) back and will travel to the depths of the underworld to bring him home and by his side but Death will not let go of it's prize easily or the other men who wish to control Merlin.Good thing Arthur has Dream Merlin helping him.





	1. The Black Letter

 

" _You should not have taken him_ ," a feminine voice spoke softly in the darkness. " _I have written his destiny. You have no right to interfere._ "

 

 _"I do as I please, my Lady,_ " a harsh and gravelly voice said. _"I do not bend to your whim, for we are equals. Although I am so very curious. Why do you bind your precious Emrys to a Pendragon, a kin-slayer? He was born from your magic, was he not?"_

 

 _"Arthur Pendragon is not a kin-slayer,"_ the woman's voice growled deeply. _"He was born of my magic yes, which is why he will take my mark and return magic to the land. But he cannot do that without Emrys._ "

 

" _Yes, Emrys,_ " the gravelly voice returned, sounding ever so smug. " _Your precious child. So much has been sacrificed to bring him into creation. Yet, you wish to make him a slave. To a kin-slayer_."

 

 _"Arthur Pendragon carries out the deeds of Uther,_ " the woman hissed. " _He does not kill his own kind willingly, nor is he aware that he is of kin to us. He requires Emrys to reveal it. Without Emrys, the sacrifices my children have made will be for naught. Why do you vex me so?"_

 

 _"For I am Death,_ " the raspy voice said simply, as with an unseen shrug. " _It is time that man shed blood, instead of our own, don't you think?"_

 

The feminine voice said nothing. There was only a soft sigh from her, and then nothing as if she had vanished. The raspy voice chuckled gravely.

 

 _"How about you, Emrys?_ " the voice said, now addressing the small mortal flesh suit that held all the powers of the Old Ways. " _Don't think it is time that they paid in blood?"_

 

Merlin laid on the cold hard ground and said nothing. Fear, and perhaps something else, some dark magic, kept him frozen in place. There was only darkness, and Merlin could see who, or _what_ , asked him the question.

 

" _In time Emrys,_ " the voice said with a note of finality, " _You will see._ "

 

And with that, Merlin was alone. For a second the panic overtook him and he thought he would die right there on the spot.

 

\--

 

"Where is he?" Arthur snapped irritably. He didn't very well expect anyone to answer him, but Leon surprised him by speaking.

 

"I've got all the servants looking for him. Gaius said he hasn't seen him since yesterday afternoon. He suggested to check the taverns."

 

"That was the first place I looked," Arthur said wryly. "After this morning's petition, we're going to find the idiot. Knowing him he fell in a ditch and knocked himself unconscious."

 

Leon gave him an amused smirk, but quickly wiped it off his face as they stepped into the throne room. Leon took his place off to the side with the other knights, while Arthur mounted the dais next to his father. After a brief moment, Uther raised his hand, and the two royals sat.

 

"Begin," Uther said.

 

The court room was brimming with people today. Arthur tried very hard to listen, but the sudden disappearance of his manservant had him preoccupied. Yet somehow, after the fourth person came forward speaking of a sudden drought and his harvest rotting, Arthur forgot about Merlin.

 

"That's the fourth today," Uther said thoughtfully and quietly. He glanced at Arthur. "I want you to do a patrol when we're done. Visit all the towns nearby and check on their fields. Sudden crop rot doesn't just happen this quickly. I suspect sorcery."

 

"Of course," Arthur said to his father, but he couldn't help the sneer in the back of his mind. _Of course you think it's sorcery._

 

\--

 

"This is the eighth one," Leon said, rubbing the back of his neck to chase away the growing tension. "All the reports are all the same. The crops are suddenly beginning to rot. In fact, all the plant life seems to be dying."

 

Arthur nodded as he looked around. The trees were wilting in the sun, even though Beltane had just passed, and the summer heat had yet to truly visit them. Grass was beginning to turn yellow. Crops were withering and rotting.

 

"A plague perhaps?" Arthur said. "It wouldn't be the first time."

 

"Your father believes-" Leon started.

 

"I know what my father believes Sir Leon," Arthur snapped. "But I refuse to always assume there is magic a foot. Surely this could be a simple plague brought on by Nature herself?"

 

" _I did not do this,_ " a feminine voice hissed behind him. Arthur whirled around and unsheathed his sword. He lowered it a moment later when he saw who had spoken. It was a young girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen seasons old. He felt himself flush. Being caught pointing his sword at such a young girl was an embarrassment.

 

"Of course you didn't," Leon spoke beside him, pointedly trying to not draw attention to Arthur's grave mishap. "However, perhaps you have seen-"

 

 _"Death has caused this plight. He has stolen our Emrys._ " the girl said, staring directly at Arthur. Arthur shivered for a second and looked closely at the girl. Something was wrong with her, he could feel it. He hated to even think it, but his mind hissed _magic._

 

 _"We do not have much time,"_ the girl said, moving quicker than he thought a girl could move. The girl's hand wrapped around his arm, dragging him down until he could stare into her bright eyes. His breath caught in his throat. There was no black in the girl's eyes. No pupils. The iris was gray and splotchy like the moon on a clear night. _Magic._

 

" _Death holds Emrys. He is inviting every prince in Albion to fight for the right to claim him. You must be the one to claim him, Pendragon. Whoever rules Emrys will rule Albion as High King. I have worked too hard and spilled too much blood to allow it all to fall apart."_

 

Arthur felt as though he were to fall over and die. Something in him wanted to fall to his knees to this young girl, but the rest of him wished to draw his sword and defend himself. But there was something in her face, something pinched and desperate, as though she were keeping tears from spilling.

 

"Release him," he heard Leon snarl behind him. Arthur knew that swords were being drawn, he could hear it, but he could do nothing to help, his limbs felt like dead weight in this girl's grip. The girl turned her pupil-less gaze on Leon and her lip curled into a sneer.

 

"You mortals," she chided, as if she were an old mother watching a group of children stumble over their own feet. "Your swords are little more than sticks."

 

The girl lifted her hand, and before Arthur could beg her not to, her eyes burned gold, as if the sun itself were rising in them, and his knights were taken easily off their feet and thrown back from them. Arthur watched helplessly as they all landed hard on the dying grass and did not move.

 

"Don't hurt them," he managed to whimper to her. Arthur wasn't sure why he felt so inclined as to beg her. She was a girl, and he was a prince. Yet there was something in this girl that made her appear bigger than she was, somehow more powerful than he. It frightened him for a reason that he couldn't put his finger on.

 

"You aren't a little girl, are you?" Arthur whispered. He stared into her eyes and the girl smiled.

 

 _"I am the Triple Goddess,"_ the little girl said in a soft voice, her slim hand reaching up to cup Arthur's cheek. She gazed at him with eyes that Arthur had only seen on a mother-

 

The girl's shape shimmered and the hand on his cheek grew larger, warmer. Suddenly he was gazing into a face that he had only seen in paintings, shoved into dark, forbidden rooms in the castle.

 

"Mother?" he whispered as he gazed at the woman. Her hair was lighter than Arthur's, but her eyes. Arthur knew she had given him her eyes. For a moment he wanted to cry, but the woman before him shook her head.

 

 _"Only because you wish it so,"_ the woman whispered to him fondly. _"I am the Triple Goddess. I am all Maidens. I am all Mothers. And I am all Crones. And you are my son. Born of my magic, paid for with your mother's blood. A life for a life, I brought you forth."_

 

Arthur flinched from her, trying to release his arm, but she held him firm. Her face came close and he could smell her, the smell his father had described only once when he was but a small child asking for his mother.

 

 _She smelled like summer,_ his father had told him. _Like a summer morning right before the sun rose and made everything hot and unbearable. She smelled just like a field in summer._

 

Arthur whimpered as she tugged him to her. This wasn't right. He wasn't a child, he shouldn't feel like such a small child.

 

 _"You must claim Emrys from Death before the Summer Solstice. If you do not, all will be lost and Albion will fall. You are my child,"_ she said, caressing his face. _"I made Emrys for you, and you alone. Anyone else will abuse him. You love him. I know you do."_

 

"I don't know who Emrys is," Arthur argued weakly. This woman, this sorceress, this _goddess_ had him confused with another Arthur. "I've never met him before."

 

 _"You have,"_ she smiled tightly, rolling her eyes. _"The mother wouldn't take the name I gave him. She wanted to name her babe herself, and so she did. His name…"_

 

The woman stared into his eyes, capturing his attention with her pupil-less blue eyes.

 

_"…is Merlin."_

 

And with that, Arthur fell into unconsciousness.

 

\--

 

When Arthur woke up, he was back in Camelot.

 

He felt like he'd drank _far_ too much wine. His mouth felt stuffed with cotton, and his tongue felt like a board of wood had been tied to it. He must have made some undignified noise, because there was a sudden scrape of a chair and a loud, booming voice in his ear.

 

"Arthur! You're awake! Guard, fetch Gaius immediately!"

 

"Father?" Arthur murmured weakly. It was his father, definitely. Uther brought a cup to his lips and Arthur drank as much as he could. "What happened?"

 

"You were attacked," his father said with tightly controlled anger. "A sorceress in disguise. She used it to make you lower your guard."

 

"I don't feel attacked," Arthur said, slowly running his mind over his body, looking for any sign of injury or damage. There was none.

 

"Luckily, Sir Leon was able to break her spell on you," his father said, sitting on the side of the bed. For a moment, when Arthur looked at him, he didn't see the fearsome King Uther, but simply his father. The man looked far older than he remembered, the worry lines in his forehead much deeper.

 

"I was afraid you wouldn't wake up," his father said softly, almost like a true and caring father. It almost made Arthur's heart swell. "But of course, you were able to break her spell. You are my son after all."

 

Arthur smiled thinly as his father gripped his arm in a rare show of affection. Right by his father's hand Arthur could see a purple bruise in the shape of a much smaller, thinner hand.

 

"She grabbed me," Arthur said absent mindedly as he gingerly touched the bruise. "She was so small, but she was as strong as an ox. She said-"

 

"Lies," Uther cut him off simply. His father vanished quickly, and left King Uther in his place. "That creature only told you lies to trick you. She got into your head. She wanted to use you."

 

Before Arthur could respond, there was a knock at the door, and at his father's short _enter_ the door opened and there was Gaius with his bag of herbs. The old man smiled kindly at him. For a moment, Gaius stood as in thought, and then turned to Uther.

 

"My lord, perhaps you could give us a bit of privacy?" Gaius said in his kind, but stern physician voice. "The prince has just awoken, I would like to avoid any stress until I can examine him."

 

Uther stood for a moment, his lips pressed tight as if he wanted to argue. He knew that arguing with Gaius could result badly for the patient, but his ego as King and father had difficulty accepting that. Finally the internal battle was over and Uther nodded, placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder in a show of support. Uther promised to come visit him after dinner if he was up to it, and after a quick nod at Gaius, swept out of the room.

 

Arthur smiled as Gaius hobbled over to him. For a second Arthur wanted to ask why Merlin wasn't carrying Gaius' bag, but then he was struck by a vivid memory, the Goddess who took the shape of his mother.

 

_"His name…is Merlin."_

 

"Gaius," he started, his voice clicking with dryness. The old man simply handed him another cup of water before sighing heavily and sitting on the edge of the bed.

 

"I heard you've had quite the adventure, my lord." Gaius said neutrally, and then all of a sudden, Arthur knew that Gaius _knew._

 

"Where's Merlin?" he asked, not in the mood to play games. He needed to know if it was true. If that woman had told the truth about his manservant. Gaius watched him for a moment, his white eyebrow arched high up on his face.

 

"I was hoping you could tell me," Gaius answered, watching Arthur's face closely. Arthur swallowed and glanced at the door. If his father heard him…

 

"It's true then? What she said about Merlin?" Arthur asked. Somehow, even though he knew it to be true, it felt awful to have it confirmed.

 

"Tell me what she said Sire," Gaius said softly, almost a whisper.

 

With a hazy memory, it was difficult for him to remember what the Goddess had said to him, but he recounted as much of it to Gaius as he possibly could, answering Gaius' questions as he went.

 

"So you must rescue Merlin before the Summer Solstice. That's a little over a month away." Gaius said thoughtfully, muttering to himself Arthur knew.

 

"But we don't know where _from_ Gaius. And if my father hears of this, he'll-" Arthur shut his mouth quickly as he heard the rapid footfalls of knights approaching his door. Gaius barely had enough time to hurriedly stand up from the bed before the door to the prince's chambers burst open.

 

"I'm sorry my lord," Leon gasped, his face red and blotchy. "But you need to come to the council chamber. _Now._ "

 

"What's wrong?" Arthur said sitting up, throwing his legs over the bed. He ignored Gaius' _I would very much like the prince to stay in bed_.

 

"The sorceress from this morning," Leon said, still trying to adjust his breath. "She's returned. She's demanding to speak with you."

 

"And my father is letting her?" Arthur asked incredulously. Leon shook his head with a pained expression, but waved at Arthur to move faster.

 

"I haven't the time to explain." Leon said shortly.

 

\--

 

Arthur burst into the council chamber, expecting to be greeted with an uproar of nobles, his father included. Instead, he was greeted with silence.

 

Arthur stared around the room. All the councilmen were frozen solid. Their eyes flickered furiously back and forth toward him, as if to signal him. His father, from his seat at the head of the table did the same thing. A still candle flame caught his attention. It appeared that everything in that room had been brought to a stop by magic. He stepped slowly into the room, even though the look on his fathers face screamed for him to run.

 

"I'm here!" Arthur raised his voice in the chamber.

 

" _So you are,"_ said a musical feminine voice. The goddess was no longer a child, nor did she look like his mother. She almost reminded him of Queen Annis, the one time he'd seen her many years ago. She woman was beautiful, but not very youthful. Her face was beginning to show the signs of her age, tired with faint lines that would one day deepen into wrinkles.

 

"Is this what you really look like then?" he asked her. "Not a child, and certainly not my mother, but this?"

 

 _"I am the Triple Goddess,"_ the woman said in a bored voice. _"I have no mortal form. I borrow from others. I normally do not bother speaking directly to mortals at all, but this is a very special occasion."_

 

Arthur frowned, not satisfied with the answer, but he decided arguing with a goddess over her appearance was rather pointless. He could practically feel Leon trying to draw his sword behind him.

 

"Remember last time," Arthur hissed quietly to him. Leon paled slightly and his hand lowered.

 

"What do you want?" Arthur asked, trying to stand as straight as he possibly could. He tried not to look intimidated. Then the woman's image shimmered again and before he knew it the woman was standing in front of him, holding out a black letter with a red seal. Arthur lurched back slightly, but not enough to topple. The same could not be said for Leon.

 

" _Death has sent his invitations,"_ the woman said. Just as Arthur was reaching for the letter, there was a small scrape as Uther lurched in his chair, his face twisted in fury. The goddess smiled, all teeth and no mirth.

 

" _If I wanted him dead, he would be."_ the goddess sneered at the King. Arthur swallowed hard, that faint urge to kneel tickling his head again. " _Although it is almost warming to see that you truly have love for the boy. Anything else would be such a disappointment, considering all that was sacrificed, wouldn't it?"_

 

Arthur tried not to react when he saw his father pale.

 

"What are you-" Arthur began, his throat burning with unanswered questions. There had been no sacrifice for his birth? Had there?

 

 _"Take it,"_ the goddess insisted, shoving the letter in his hands. _"That will be enough to grant you passage. You must retrieve Emrys. Or else-"_

 

"Albion will fall, yes, yes I got that already thank you." Arthur said gruffly as he took the letter. For a moment a cold feeling crept between his shoulders as he realized how he had just spoken to a _goddess._ He lifted his eyes shyly at her, only to see a sad look on her face, instead of an angry one that would have surely been on his father's.

 

 _"I don't think you do, Arthur,"_ she said, her voice sad and wistful. _"I made Emrys for you, only for you. His_ magic _is only to serve you. If another man gets their hands on Emrys, the entire world will crumble and the reign of the Once and Future King will never pass._

 

 _"You are one of us, Arthur,"_ she said as she laid a warm hand on his cheek again, her pupil-less eyes shining. " _Our people have sacrificed much for you. We have spilled so much blood for you, for what you will become. You_ cannot _throw all of that away._ "

 

Arthur opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing would come out. The goddess smiled at him in understanding. She leaned forward to place her lips on his cheek, and Arthur could smell it again, the scent of summer. When the goddess pulled back, she was gone.

 

\--

 

Arthur sat in his chambers, the door firmly bolted. His father had spent more than a few hours pounding at the door, demanding to be let in, but Arthur had ignored it, and eventually someone had dragged him away, probably Gaius.

He sat in front of the fireplace, watching the flames quietly as he turned the black letter over and over in his hands.

 

Arthur was feeling a wide range of emotions. He was angry, mostly. Merlin had magic, and a lot of it apparently. He thought of Merlin, _his_ Merlin, his bumbling idiot of a manservant who couldn't be bothered to show any amount of respect to anyone, even his prince. He thought of Merlin's smile and his cheery and irritating way of waking Arthur in the morning. He also thought of all the times that they should have died, and yet they didn't. He had always thought that Merlin was his lucky charm, as if having Merlin next to him had made him immortal.

 

He supposed he wasn't wrong. Merlin's magic probably did make him immortal. And now he was being held at ransom because of it. He _needed_ to save Merlin. If he was certain of one thing, other than the fact that he was going to have to have a very long talk with Merlin once he was safely back in Camelot, it was that there was no way that any other kingdom could have that amount of power.

 

With a note of finality, Arthur popped the blood red wax seal and opened the letter. The first inky black page was drawn on with thick white strokes. After staring at it for a moment, Arthur realized that it was a map. In sharp white lines Camelot was depicted on the map in graphic detail. The rest of the map laid out the forests and the mountains and the rivers that surrounded them. From Camelot to a large X painted on a cluster of mountains was a trail of dashes  laid out in a white line. Arthur folded the map carefully and looked at the next page tucked in the letter.

 

It was a letter written in an impressive script so slanted that Arthur struggled to read it.

 

_Prince Arthur,_

 

_You are one of the many heirs that have been offered the chance to claim the Emrys. Your instructions are simple. The claim must be made before the Summer Solstice. You must follow the map on the path laid out for you, otherwise the entrance to my realm will not reveal itself. Be warned, I will not allow anyone to claim Emrys easily. You will be expected to make sacrifices for his power, for whomever rules Emrys shall rule Albion._

 

_I await your presence,  
Death_

 

Arthur shivered. Surely, it wasn't actually _Death_ that had kidnapped Merlin? Arthur wanted this to all be a terrible joke, but the knot that twisted itself in his stomach told him that wasn't true. He had just over a month to find and save Merlin. Arthur studied the map again. If he was correct in his identification, the place where Merlin was being held was not far from Camelot, perhaps a week out if he took his time.

 

Arthur sighed and braced himself. His father was not going to let him go easily.

 

\--

 

"I forbid it!"

 

Arthur tried very hard not to roll his eyes as his father aggressively paced the throne room back and forth. Of course he would.

 

"Father," Arthur began. "I have to go."

 

"No," his father snapped. "Not for some servant. Not because of a sorceress. I forbid it!"

 

"Father," Arthur tried again. "Merlin is not _some servant._ He is apparently a very powerful sorcerer."

 

"All the reason to leave him to die," his father snarled.

 

"And what will you do," Arthur raged back. "when someone else gets him? _Everyone_ has received one of these!"

 

Arthur threw the letter down so his father would be forced to look at it.

 

"You heard what she said! The letter says the same. The one to rule Emrys will rule Albion. If another kingdom gets a hold of him, nothing will be able to stop them from destroying Camelot. If we have him, at least we can control him, yes? If..if I bring him back, _you_ will be the one to rule him, thus Albion. Wouldn't that be better than the alternative?"

 

Arthur took a deep breath. He hadn't expected to say all that. This was about more than ruling Albion. This was about saving Merlin, but Uther wouldn't listen to that and Arthur knew it. His father looked like he was waging war in himself. To save a sorcerer went against everything Uther was about. But to allow another King to have a powerful sorcerer was also against everything he was for.

 

"How long?" Uther ground out. Arthur blinked at him in an owlish confusion. Uther huffed at him. "How long will this _quest_ take?"

 

It took a second for Arthur to realize that his father was _agreeing_ with him, but after a beat, Arthur snatched up the map and turned it towards his father.

 

"If I'm right, these are the White Mountains. That means that it would take about a week. I have over an entire month to…claim him as it says. That's plenty of time to be back before the Summer Solstice feast."

 

Uther stared at the map hard. Arthur knew he wasn't even looking at the map. He was thinking, his eyes unmoving and unseeing.

 

"Be back before the Summer Solstice," the king bit out, turning away to sulk back to his chambers. For a wild moment, Arthur's face lit up with a giddy smile, but he quickly bit down on it.

 

"Of course, I will father. Thank you. I'll set out tomorrow morning." Arthur said, not expecting his father to respond. He turned quickly and made his way to his chambers. There was so much he needed to prepare.

 

"Arthur," his father called. Arthur paused and turned. His father stood stiffly, but his eyes were shining as he looked at Arthur. His face was twisted in a way that Arthur couldn't identify, almost as if it were worry or perhaps _fear_ on his father's face.

 

"Be careful," his father said in a small voice. Arthur paused. He had never heard his father speak to him in such a…well, fatherly way. Arthur stood a little straighter and gave his father a confident smile.

 

"I will," he said and headed for his chambers.

 

\--

 

Merlin shifted around in the darkness. He had quickly realized that he was not wearing any shackles. He was not bound, it was merely too dark to see. For a while Merlin had spent time casting spells, trying to conjure a light. Nothing worked. His magic was not bound, he could feel it under his skin, in his breath, but for some reason, his magic didn't work here.

 

It was frustrating.

 

So Merlin had spent the past hour - hours? - groping in the darkness, trying to find any clue to reveal where he was. Under his hands all he could feel was cold, hard dirt. There was the occasional sharp pebble that would dig into his palm, but other than that, there was nothing. Merlin hadn't even found a wall yet.

 

" _What do you seek Emrys?"_

 

Merlin flinched at the sound of the gravelly, raspy voice. It was the voice from before, he was certain. He didn't trust that voice. It belonged to something powerful, he was sure.

 

"Where am I?" Merlin called to the darkness. Suddenly there was a flicker of light and a round, glowing orb appeared before him. It danced and bobbed in front of him before fluttering away and splitting into two. Those two also split, and the orbs continued to split until the cavern he was in bathed in a pale light.

 

The cavern was enormous. It could have taken him hours to reach the stone walls that held up the ceiling that was dotted with stalagmites. However, it would have only taken him a moment before he reached the pond. It was huge. It could have easily stretched on for more than a mile, Merlin couldn't tell.

 

" _Welcome to my realm, young Emrys,"_ the voice cooed crudely behind him. Merlin shivered as he turned. He stared into the shadows, looking for the source of the voice.

 

"Where am I?" he called, his voice echoing loudly throughout the cavern. The voice chuckled in response. The shadows at the edge of the circle of light cast by the orbs twisted and swelled, slinking forward along the ground. They ballooned up, slowly taking the form of a man. Well, of a man in a cloak. He could see a pale mouth jutting out from the hood of the cloak, splitting wide into a grin.

 

" _The Underworld, my dear Emrys."_ the mouth sneered. Merlin shivered.

 

"If I am dead, why am I here?" he asked, feeling small.

 

" _You are not dead, my precious child,"_ Merlin heard a soft, feminine voice from behind him. The voice was familiar, but not right. He turned. His mother stood before him, her soft brown hair covered in a white rag, her simple dress looking cleaner than he'd seen it in years.

 

"Mother?" he asked. Merlin was confused, and blissfully happy for a moment. Then he realized there was something wrong with her. The eyes, they weren't right. Her aura wasn't right. There was something wrong.

 

" _In a way,"_ the woman responded. _"Your eyes see me as your mother, but no, I am not the mortal that birthed you into this world. I am more. I am the Triple Goddess."_

 

"The Triple Goddess?" Merlin asked. All of a sudden, he felt incredibly small. And intimidated. He gazed at this goddess who wore his mother's face. The goddess of the Druids. He felt breathless as he felt the wave of magic coming off of her.

 

"Why am I here?" he asked her. He couldn't help the touch of awe that tinted his voice. After all, this was a goddess. A goddess that he had desperately wanted to know, if he was being honest. Ever since he realized that there was a goddess of the Old Ways who ruled over magic, he had always wanted to know her, and here she was.

 

" _Death here,"_ the goddess said, Hunith's mouth twisting downward in a frown as she gazed at the cloaked man. _"Has decided to interfere with destiny. I am afraid you are trapped here, in his realm, until your Champion arrives."_

 

"My champion?" Merlin asked, flushing a little. He had heard some of the knights called Champions by some of the ladies in the court. The ladies would tie little handkerchiefs and other pieces of cloth to a knights armor or lance as they performed in tournaments. "I'm not a woman, I don't need a champion."

 

The goddess smiled softly and the cloaked man grinned.

 

 _"No, but never the less, you have one,"_ the goddess said, turning to the pool of water. She waved her hand over the smooth, glass like surface, causing it to ripple. As she stepped away, the pool brightened, momentarily blinding Merlin. When his eyes adjusted, he saw several pictures going all at once. There were royals, Merlin was sure they were royals because they all had an air about them that reminded him of Arthur. All of them seemed to be questing, traveling, or preparing to travel. He shook his head; he didn't understand.

 

Then he saw Arthur.

 

Arthur, dressed in his normal hunting cloths, his armor strapped to his horse, following a trail through a forest. The forest surrounding Camelot.

 

 _"Your champion,"_ the goddess smiled fondly when she noticed Merlin leaning forward towards Arthur's reflection in the water. _"He has accepted the challenge that Death has issued. He comes for you."_

 

 _"Hopefully he is the one to claim you Emrys. The Triple Goddess is very eager for him to claim you as his own."_ The raspy voice of Death spoke behind him.

 

"Claim me?" Merlin asked, his cheeks flushing red. It sounded so primitive, like Arthur was coming to throw him over his shoulder and carry him to a cave to ravish him.

 

 _"The one to rule Emrys rules Albion."_ The goddess murmured softly, her voice sad. _"The royal who can successfully complete Death's challenge shall be the one to control you Emrys, as well as your magic. And then they will rule Albion._ "

 

"So this is all some twisted game? And I'm the _prize_?" he asked, this time, anger making his cheeks flush. The goddess smiled sadly again and Death shrugged carelessly.

 

 _"I'm sorry,"_ the goddess said as she turned away from him, Hunith's shoulders slumping in defeat.

 

 _"It will be fun,"_ Death said smugly. _"Watching your prince. He seems to confident. He will not gain your power so easily. I will make him sacrifice much for your power. Aren't you excited, my dear?"_

 

The Goddess turned to Death and gave him an ugly look that Merlin had never seen on Hunith's face. He shivered.

 

 _"If you ruin all my plans, waste the sacrifices of my children, I will never forgive you."_ she sneered.

 

" _I look forward to your wrath,_ " Death chuckled before he slunk back into the shadows. The goddess smiled at Merlin one last time with Hunith's face. She touched his cheek gently.

 

 _"He will come for you,"_ she said kindly, although Merlin didn't believe her. _"I made you especially for him. He will not be able to resist coming for you. You belong with him, my precious boy."_

 

Before Merlin could think of anything to say, the woman was gone. Left alone, Merlin turned back to the water and watched as Arthur stopped and paused to let his horse drink from a stream. He pulled a piece of black paper from his saddlebag and studied it intently. Merlin wanted to speak to him.

 

He leaned close to the water and whispered to the smooth surface, hoping that just maybe, Arthur may be able to hear him.

 

"Arthur," he whispered, blowing tiny ripple in the water. For a long moment, Arthur just stared at the map, one hand slowly petting his horses side.

 

" _Arthur,_ " Merlin said more insistently, forcing a little bit of magic in his voice, as if Arthur's name were a spell. Almost immediately, Arthur's head snapped up and he looked around wildly. Merlin grinned when Arthur's eyes settled on the spot where Merlin sat, staring into the water.

 

 _"_ Don't you dare leave me here you prat, _"_ he said to the water, his voice tightening with emotion. His voice sounded watery even to him. For a moment, Arthur's eyes flickered around him, still searching for Merlin. Finally, Arthur climbed back on his horse and continued through the forest.

 

" _I'm coming Merlin,"_ Arthur's voice drifted up from the water. Merlin couldn't help but grin.

 


	2. The Silver Merlin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a quick fill for the prompt, but as with every story I write it seems I always end up creating some sort of in-depth, super long monster. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. Feel free to leave comments, they make me happy!

Arthur never really appreciated all that Merlin did for him when they spent the night in the woods.

 

It had been years since Arthur had had to set up his own camp by himself. Usually there were knights, or at the very least Merlin, whom he'd obviously forced to do everything while Arthur lounged about. He forgot how tiresome it was to set up camp when you were already dead on your feet. First, he'd had to tie his horse down and unload her of the various bags and armor that she had been saddled with. Then he'd had to build the fire, which of course meant he had to gather wood. Then he'd had to unroll his bedding and prepare his own supper.

 

Somewhere in the distance, Arthur could have sworn he heard Merlin laughing at him.

 

Arthur rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. He'd been on the road for five days now. There were several instances when he'd thought he heard Merlin's voice speaking to him, but surely that was just his wishful thinking, or perhaps his mind was just filling in the silence with something familiar. Arthur wasn't used to being alone these days after all.

 

After making sure his horse was comfortable (he was most certainly not telling her goodnight, obviously), Arthur sat himself by the fire and looked again at the bundle of letters that had been in his "invitation" on this maddening quest. The map was starting to become wrinkled with frequent use. The letter behind it was in no better condition. Arthur wanted to find some sort of clue, something he'd missed before, but he found nothing new, no matter how hard he looked.

 

It was only five days in and Arthur had learned of several others who were already searching for Merlin. He didn't think that word would have spread so fast, but somehow it had. Every town Arthur had passed was buzzing with stories and gossip of Emrys. At first, Arthur had found them funny. Everyone seemed to think that Emrys was some pure maiden, snatched by the evil king of the underworld.

 

To the villagers and peasants, it all made sense now. Their crops were dying and the earth was wilting simple because someone had snatched a maiden who brought spring with her everywhere she went. And now so many brave knights were going to her aid. After hearing the tales so many times, Arthur wanted to smash his head into a wall.

 

Merlin was barely capable of bring him breakfast at a reasonable hour, yet these people wanted him to make the crops and plants grow.

 

As much as it pained him to say, they were right though.

 

The air smelled like autumn, not early summer. The trees were wilting, some of them already beginning to shed leaves. The ground smelled like rotting plants, not like new sprouts and flowers. The entire earth seemed to be confused. Animals were coming out of the brush, searching for new life and new homes to raise their young, yet all they found was a land that was trying to lull them back into hibernation.

 

And of course, after the stories of the beautiful maiden Emrys, there had been the recalling of the brave deeds of the various men who had come forth to claim her. If Arthur was being honest, he was more than a little irritated that no one had mentioned him but in passing. He couldn't quite believe it. His own people were more excited about other challengers than their own prince.

 

First there had been the Black Knight, a mysterious rogue figure who saved ladies from danger and chased away bandits from poor villages. If Arthur had to guess, he'd say it was the son of King Pellinore. He'd heard plenty of stories similar to the ones in the villages, of a knight in all black armor who did heroic deeds in the name of honor. Arthur would have very much like to have met this man, but the last time Arthur had heard, King Pellinore and Uther weren't exactly friendly. They weren't enemies, per say, but Pellinore's son, Dindrane, if Arthur remembered properly, had never been to any tournament held in Camelot before.

 

Then had been the fantastical tales of the Faerie Knight, allegedly the half-mortal child of Queen Mab, ruler of the fey. Arthur had never heard his name before. Accolon they called him. The people talked less about his travels and deeds, and more about his beauty. Apparently this Accolon could turn even a man's head. Arthur had promptly left the tavern when he realized he wasn't going to find out anything useful.

 

The last rumors Arthur had heard before following the map into a forest, was of another prince. The others had been princes, but they had all been called knight before anything else, showing that they were warriors, and not just the sons of kings. Prince Ywain, son of King Urien, was apparently an exception. Ywain was said to be traveling with a knight, a companion, rather than alone, which said much about the boy. The only exceptional thing he had heard about Ywain was that he had magic.

 

King Urien was one of the few remaining kings who openly accepted magic users and druids, which meant that Uther and Urien weren't friends at all, and most certainly enemies. Arthur had never met Ywain, and hadn't heard anything about him either before now. Everyone had whispered though of his magic. The boy's mother had apparently been a sorceress, and trained her son to use the Arts like she did.

 

You think too much, Merlin's voice said in his head. You need to sleep.

 

"Shut up, Merlin." Arthur said absently, forgetting that Merlin wasn't actually there. He felt stupid though, once he realized it. Merlin wasn't there and yet Arthur was sitting here talking to himself as if he were. He sighed deeply and punched his bedroll, trying to get comfortable.

 

Merlin was much better at this than him. When Merlin prepared his bed, he always found a perfect spot with no sticks or sharp rocks. Arthur wasn't so lucky. The ground was lumpy and hard, stones digging into his back at all sorts of angles. After a good hour of twisting on the ground, the prince ended up settling against a tree and dozed next to the horse for a few hours while he waited for the sun the brighten his path again.

 

\--

 

"You're an idiot."

 

Arthur jerked awake. Or at least he thought he was awake.

 

No, Arthur decided quickly. Definitely not awake.

 

First of all, Merlin was there. So, obviously, he was dreaming.

 

Secondly, everything was blue.

 

And not the soft blue that came when the sun was just beginning to rise, but an actual blue, as if the trees themselves had grown blue leaves instead of green. There were also lights. Little blue orbs that danced above his head, bobbing back and forth. He'd seen that light before, but he couldn't quite decide where he'd seen it.

 

"They're mine," said the dream-Merlin. The idiot looked just like the real one, except for the blue tint that brightened his skin. Arthur just stared at him. Dream-Merlin rolled his eyes.

 

"The lights," he explained, pointing to them, as if Arthur didn't understand. "They're mine. My magic makes them sometimes. I don't know why."

 

Arthur nodded, as if he understood, but really he didn't. He didn't know the first thing about magic. Except that it was evil of course. Although, Merlin looked anything but evil right now.

 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Arthur snapped. He couldn't help it. He knew he would have to have this conversation again, with the real Merlin, but that didn't exactly make it easier to accept that his so-called best friend, had magic.

 

Dream-Merlin looked sad. Truly and utterly miserable.

 

"I thought you would hate me," he said, smiling a little. "I didn't want you to hate me for something I had no control over."

 

"You didn't choose to use magic then?" Arthur bit out, folding his arms across his chest. He didn't give a damn if he was acting like a child. Merlin had lied to him for years. He felt he deserved to be a bit childish.

 

"No," Dream-Merlin said, the sad smile still tugging at his mouth. "I was born like this Arthur, I didn't choose it. Mum said I would make things dance for fun when I was a baby. She always said I was able to do magic before I bothered to learn how to walk. Apparently it was very difficult for her to teach me that I had to actually walk to things and not just call them to me."

 

"You…never learned any spells?" Arthur asked him. He tried to imagine baby Merlin, reaching out a grubby hand from his crib and snatching sweets off the table with a flash of his eyes. He couldn't quite picture it.

 

"No," Dream-Merlin said, shaking his head with a happier, more wistful smile. "I've never been any good at spells. I'm terrible at them even now. I've always just willed something to happen, and some how my magic always did what I wanted."

 

Arthur was quiet for a few long minutes, and then finally found the only thing to say that felt right. "That is exactly what I'd expect from you. A lazy manservant is of course, a lazy sorcerer."

 

"I'm a warlock, not a sorcerer," Dream-Merlin pouted at him. "I was born with it, that makes me a warlock."

 

Arthur shrugged. It wasn't a very large difference in his mind.

 

For a long time, they sat there in the blue light that made everything in Arthur's tiny little camp glow. Arthur could almost feel himself dozing back off to sleep, gently lulled by the bobbing lights above his head.

 

"She called you my champion. The Triple Goddess, I mean."

 

Arthur made some sort of undignified noise as he blinked drowsily back at dream-Merlin. He wanted to sleep. Even in his dreams, Merlin couldn't help but irritate him to no end.

 

"I guess I'm supposed to give you a favor then."

 

Arthur made another noise as he leaned his head back against the tree, his eyes slipping shut. He'd get to sleep even if it meant ignoring Merlin for the rest of his dream. His mind would eventually stop trying to guilt him about Merlin and then he'd be able to sleep.

 

"You prat, you aren't even listening."

 

"Mm," Arthur hummed. Nope, he was not listening. Not in the slightest.

 

"Fine. Go to sleep then. I was bored talking with you anyway."

 

Arthur said nothing and Merlin huffed. Arthur heard Merlin shift, there was a rustle of some sort, but Arthur was too deep into sleep to really care enough to identify it.

 

"I swear Arthur, if you make one joke about me being a girl, I will turn you into a toad and stuff you in a jar for the rest of your days."

 

Arthur wanted to ask what the actual hell Merlin was talking about, but he felt a slight tug on his arm and then he drifted back into sleep.

 

\--

 

When Arthur woke up, for real this time he knew because everything was green like it was supposed to be, his back was aching like he didn't think was possible. Sleeping against the tree was supposed to help, not make things worse.

 

The sun was shining bright through the leaves, so that meant that it was time for Arthur to pack up. As he gathered his things and packed them away, Arthur thought back on the dream. He wondered if talking to Merlin about his magic was going to be as easy as it was in the dream.

 

It wasn't until he was mounting his horse that Arthur noticed the flash of red on his arm. He stared at it for a long moment, thinking back to his dream and the last thing Merlin had said to him.

 

She called you my champion…I swear Arthur, if you make one joke about me being a girl…

 

No. He hadn't…that had been a dream, hadn't it? There was no way that was…

 

But it was.

 

Merlin's stupid, worn, red neckerchief was tied tight around Arthur's arm, high up and close to his shoulder, like all the knights who went to tournaments with their ladies favor tied on them. Normally it was a strange mark of ownership. A lady would claim a knight, and that knight would fight favorably in her name to please her. Either Merlin was an idiot who didn't know that or…

 

No. Merlin was definitely an idiot. Arthur was not his champion, nor was Arthur fighting to please him. So, obviously, Merlin was an idiot. An idiot who could give him something in a dream and somehow make it appear in reality. Yes, idiot indeed.

 

And if Arthur left the neckerchief tied to his arm, well that was just to remind himself of how much of a girl Merlin really was. Although he dared not say so out loud lest Merlin hear and actually turn him into a toad. Arthur wasn't too fond of the idea of living in a jar for the rest of his life.

 

\--

 

Merlin smiled in the pool as he watched Arthur with his neckerchief tied around his arm.

 

He waited for Arthur to pull it off and stuff it into his bag, or perhaps leave it in the mud, but he hadn't. He had chosen to wear it. Merlin hadn't even been sure it would work. He'd never Dream Walked before, only read about it.

 

"That's cheating Emrys," said the voice of Death behind him. Merlin didn't turn to him. He decided he was going to ignore every primordial being that approached him from now until he died. Just to be spiteful if anything.

 

"The Pendragon whelp will be sure to win if you keep helping him, Emrys."

 

Merlin wanted to stick his tongue out at Death, but he refrained. Goading this creature, god or no, wasn't the best idea Merlin could come up with. He would make sure Arthur won, of course he would.

 

"I suppose I can't allow you to help him, then."

 

Suddenly there were icy cold hands gripping his shoulders, dragging him back away from the pool.

 

"No!" Merlin shouted, trying to lash out with his magic. Death laughed at him, Merlin's magic swirling away into the air like a cloud of useless smoke.

 

"Forgive me Emrys," Death chuckled at him, so close to his face, that even though Merlin couldn't see anything, he could feel cold, stale breath on his cheek. "I had underestimated your power. Your princeling shall not receive anymore favors from you."

 

And before Merlin could say anything, a cold wave of air filled his mouth, his throat and his chest and suddenly, there was darkness.

 

\--

 

It shouldn't have taken Arthur nearly as long as it did to reach the final destination on his map.

 

It was nearly a week after he had dreamed of Merlin and the girlish idiot had given him his neckerchief. Somehow, Arthur had managed to get lost several times in a forest marked on the map as Hel's Wood. The forest itself seemed innocent enough, until he had realized that all the trees looked exactly the same. There was no crooked branch, or scratched bark that made them unique from each other. All the trees were pale white with the exact same pattern of black splotches, none of them unique. Even the dull gray leaves on the slim branches were identical.

 

His horse, sweet thing she was, had refused to take one step beyond the trees. Arthur normally would have tried to urge her into the trees, coaxing her gently, but there were already three other horses tied up outside the tree line, and Arthur knew that it would be useless to try. Not seeing any other options, Arthur had tied the mare to the nearest tree, giving her plenty of grazing room and had set about putting on his armor.

 

Another thing he had not appreciated Merlin enough for.

 

After literally days of wandering aimlessly between the trees, Arthur had finally staggered free of the woods, but he didn't exactly feel closer to his destination. At first, he'd thought he was gotten turned around again, that he had somehow come out on the wrong side of the woods. After all, he was facing the bottom of a cliff.

 

After a little bit of investigation however, Arthur assumed he had it right. The cliff face was smooth, too smooth to be an accident. Arthur had paced back and forth in front of the wall, but nothing moved, nothing changed. Finally, Arthur had begun to inspect the wall closely, turning this way and that, trying to see what he was missing.

 

Hel's Wood was certainly an enchanted forest. There was no way he wasn't meant to be here.

 

Finally, Arthur found it.

 

In a tiny alcove carved into one of the walls of the cliff face, there was a tiny white bowl, filled with gold coins. The bowl was surrounded by burned down candle stubs and various charms that were no doubt from the druids. He saw their mark, the triple spiral on several beads and trinkets. Arthur examined the small shrine closely, looking for a clue.

 

"Pay the fair," a grouchy voice said suddenly behind Arthur. The young prince whirled around to see a shriveled old man in a dull and frayed cloak. The old man held an oar in one hand, a lantern in the other. It seemed silly to have a lantern, the sun was still high up in the sky and would be for many more hours. As for the oar…well, Arthur had learned not to ask too many questions about the habits of old men.

 

"Pay the fair." the old man repeated when Arthur just stared dumbly at him. Arthur looked into the bowl of coins and Arthur knew at once that he didn't have any gold on him. Hell, he'd probably have left it with his mare if he did have any.

 

"I don't have…" Arthur began staring at the man, who stared pointedly back at Arthur. "Please, it's very important. I don't have any gold, but-"

 

"Pay the fair," the old man said with a note of finality, but also with a tinge of boredom, as if he had been repeating the same phrase for eternity. "It's the only way across."

 

"No, please. I've wasted so much time in that damned forest. If I have to go back now, I'll never have enough time to save him!" Arthur snapped at the old man. The man raised his eyebrows in an unimpressed expression. The man huffed a small laugh.

 

"You think you're the only one who has come here to save someone? You would be wrong, son. They always come here looking to save someone. If you want to save him, then you have to pay the fair."

 

"I don't have any gold," Arthur snapped, turning away in a huff. If he went back into the forest now, he would get lost again. That was the point of enchanted woods, they were supposed to get you lost. Best case scenario, Arthur would be back to the cliff in two weeks, probably longer. That would leave him a handful of days to rescue Merlin. That was unacceptable.

 

"What do you have?" came the man's gruff voice. Arthur turned back to him slowly, looking at him as if the man were daft.

 

"What does it look like I have?" Arthur said, waving at himself. "I have armor. I have a sword. I have a bloody neckerchief. I have nothing worth a fraction of gold. I doubt you have use for a sword, since you've got yourself an excellent oar there! I have nothing to give you!"

 

"Yes you do," the man said calmly, not reacting at all to the prince's rage. "Empty your pockets son. I'm sure you've got something. I can smell it."

 

Arthur gave the old man a withering look, but the old man seemed unaffected. Arthur made some sort of outraged noise as he began tearing off his armor. He didn't have anything. He was sure of it. He would never carry anything into battle, or a possible battle, unless it was useful to him. Coins and gold, or anything worth even the slightest amount of gold he didn't bother with. He never expected that magical people were so concerned with wealth. There was nothing he kept on him.

 

His hand paused over the lining of his red overcoat. The only thing he kept with him was -

 

"No," he said firmly to the old man when he smiled a crooked grin. "Absolutely not."

 

"Let's see it," the old man coaxed, shaking his oar at Arthur.

 

Hesitantly, Arthur reached into the lining of his overcoat and pulled out a large silver coin decorated with a coat of arms and a slim bird perched in the center. Arthur stared at it, feeling the smooth metal through his gloves. He shook his head, clenching it tightly in his fist.

 

"No," he said again. "It's…it's my mothers. I can't trade it."

 

The old man hummed thoughtfully and held out his hand.

 

"May I?" the old man asked. When Arthur glared at him, the old man chuckled. "I won't take it son. May I look at it?"

 

Hesitantly, Arthur held out his hand. It took him a full minute before his fingers would relax enough to reveal the silver sigil to the man. The old man plucked it carefully out of Arthur's outstretched hand and inspected it. He hummed again, as if with approval.

 

"It's my mother's sigil," Arthur said quietly, even though the old man hadn't asked. "I never knew her. That's the only thing I have of hers. My father…he hid away all her things. He won't throw them away, but he won't let anyone look at them either. I stole that from her old chambers when I was a child."

 

The old man hummed again. Arthur shifted and held out his hand, eager to get the sigil away from the man. The sigil was placed easily back into his hand.

 

"A merlin," the old man said, nodding at the sigil. "Interesting bird, don't you think?"

 

"What?" Arthur asked, caught off guard. Since when were they talking about Merlin?

 

"The bird on the coin," the old man said with a smile. "Looks like a merlin to me."

 

Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the sigil. He'd never really thought of it, but the old man was right. The bird on the crest was a merlin. He'd always thought it was a dove, something pure and white like he'd always thought it mother would be, but now that he squinted at it, he couldn't help but to agree with the old man. He looked at the sharp beak, barely noticible on the metal, the sharp arch of the wings, the layered feathers on the tail.

 

It was a fucking merlin.

 

"It's silver," the old man said thoughtfully, as though Arthur was badgering him into taking it. "I suppose I could accept silver. Silver is good. Not as good as gold, but still good. Good enough."

 

"I won't trade it," Arthur hissed through his teeth, shoving the sigil back in the lining of his over coat. The old man shrugged at him.

 

"The only way in is to pay the fair," the old man said, turning away from Arthur. "It ain't gold, but it's silver. It's silver and it means something to you. It has a piece of your heart on it. Silver and a piece of a heart is as good as any gold."

 

"There has to be something else I can give you," Arthur said loudly, suddenly finding himself desperate. He couldn't part with the sigil, he simply couldn't.

 

"It's funny, isn't it?" the old man said with a smile. When Arthur just stared at him, the old man continued. "A merlin for Merlin. It's funny."

 

"What?" Arthur gasped, stepping back from the old man.

 

"That's his name, right? The one you want to save. Merlin." the old man smiled at him again, all crooked teeth. It made Arthur's skin crawl. "If you want to rescue Merlin, you have to pay with a merlin. Get it? It's funny."

 

Perhaps the old man could see the tears in Arthur's eyes, because the smile fell off his face and as he turned away, the man gave a careless shrug.

 

"If you change your mind, you know where it goes." the old man said as he approached the cliff face and knocked on the smooth stone with his oar. The rock shimmered briefly, and the man stepped into it, fading away as if he never existed.

 

Arthur was left alone.

 

\--

 

The sun had fallen several hours ago, but Arthur didn't dare go into the forest for wood to make a fire for fear of getting lost. So he sat alone in the dark, huddled against the stone.

 

In the alcove with the bowl of gold coins, the candle stubs flickered to life, casting an eerie light on everything around it. Arthur leaned in towards it, hoping to feel some of the heat coming off the flames. He still held his mother's sigil in his hand. He flipped it over and over, but no matter how many times he glanced at it, Arthur couldn't convince himself that the bird in the center of the coin was anything other than a merlin.

 

Suddenly the bird didn't look soft and round like the dove that Arthur always thought it was. Now he could see the sharp beak and the angled wings. Of course, it was a merlin in flight. A falcon. A hunting bird. He should have known that his mother's symbol would be something fearsome, and not something as silly as a dove.

 

It would be simple enough to trade he supposed. Perhaps he could ask for it back once he'd dragged Merlin out of that cave. No, he doubted that would be a possibility. What had the others traded, Arthur wondered. Surely they hadn't all brought gold coins? How on earth was anyone supposed to know that you had to pay an old man to be allowed to complete the quest?

 

Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling more than a little aggravated. Why couldn't anything just be easy for once?

 

It seemed the Fates wished to truly test him.

 

There was a sudden commotion from the line of trees that marked the edge of the forest. Arthur leapt to his feet, grasping for his sword as someone tumbled from the trees and fell into a heap at his feet.

 

"We did it!" the boy yelled. Arthur could tell from the faint cracking in his voice, that it was most definitely a boy that had come out of the woods.

 

"My lord," a gruff voice said from in between the trees. It was an older man, and a very annoyed one if Arthur were to guess. "You shouldn't run so far ahead. Remember what happened the last time?"

 

"Oh yes," the boy muttered as he pulled himself up to face his companion. "Forgive me Sir Kay. I'm just so happy to be free of that damned forest-"

 

"Who are you?" Arthur spoke suddenly, interrupting the boy's rambling. The boy, Arthur decided he couldn't be much older than fifteen, gave a squeak and staggered back, just as his companion, Sir Kay, raised his sword towards Arthur.

 

"I-I am Prince Ywain, of Rheged," the boy squawked, his voice jumping in pitch. Arthur barely spared the boy a glance, instead keeping his gaze on the knight with the sword. "Who are you?"

 

"Prince Arthur of Camelot," he responded, backing away from the two and dropping his sword to the ground. Sir Kay lowered his sword slightly, but did not sheath it. The man was glaring at Arthur, but Arthur tried not to take it personally. He had, technically, surprised them.

 

"You're Prince Arthur?" Ywain asked, his voice suddenly full of awe.

 

"My lord," Sir Kay said warily as Ywain moved forward, his face bright with excitement.

 

"I've heard of you!" Ywain babbled, his face lit up in a grin. Arthur stared at the boy in confusion. The boy was small, even for his age. His hair was pale, not blonde like Arthurs, but very close. What confused Arthur was the faint blue lines that were painted delicately over the boy's face. The lines twisted and curled over his cheeks, creating mesmerizing patterns that seemed to spread all the way down the boy's neck like veins.

 

"You…have?" Arthur asked uncertainly. He cleared his throat awkwardly. This was the part where Arthur was supposed to say that he too had heard of the other prince, and that they should both be honored to meet each other. However, before this quest, Arthur hadn't heard much about Rheged, much less it's prince.

 

"Of course!" the boy exclaimed, not seeming bothered by Arthur's lack of response. "You're the one who survived the Questing Beast! King Pellinore couldn't stop talking about it for months."

 

"Ywain," Sir Kay scoffed lightly, smacking the back of the boy's head. The young prince chuckled sheepishly before turning to Arthur properly, his back straight. The boy bowed at the waist.

 

"It’s an honor to meet your acquaintance, my lord." the boy said with a smile. Arthur smiled back to him and bowed, not as easily due to his armor. He froze at the next words out of Ywain's mouth.

 

"We've come to assist you in rescuing Emrys."

 

\--

 

"You're mother only gave you one?" Sir Kay growled when he saw Ywain hold up a single gold coin, dark with age and with worn edges.

 

"It's not my fault!" Ywain whined at his guardian. "She didn't tell me that I needed two!"

 

Arthur looked at the old man who had appeared before them the moment Ywain pulled the coin from his pocket. The old man looked tired and ruffled as if he had been awoken from his bed in the middle of the night. Arthur couldn't blame him for being more than a little irritated. Kay and Ywain had been going back and forth since they had burst through the woods nearly an hour before.

 

"Pay the fair," the old man sighed with impatience, not bothering to look at Arthur, who was still clutching his mothers sigil rather protectively.

 

"If you only have one then how am I supposed to go with you?" Kay said to the young prince, completely ignoring the old man. Ywain whined again, a sound that was quickly beginning to grate on Arthur's nerves.

 

Through the bickering, Arthur had learned that Ywain's mother, indeed a sorceress, had instructed Ywain on how to navigate the underworld. However, whether it was done on purpose or not, she had only given Ywain one gold coin, which would pay for his way into the underworld, but not Kay's.

 

"Maybe you aren't supposed to go with me," Ywain said somewhat thoughtfully, but Arthur still felt that the boy was whining. "Maybe I'm supposed to go by myself. I can take care of myself Kay!"

 

Arthur rolled his eyes. The old man growled and smacked his oar on the ground.

 

"Enough," the old man snapped. "Pay the fair, or get on. I don't appreciate being woken up for nothing."

 

For a second, Arthur thought that Kay would try to rip the old man apart, but finally he heaved an enormous, and very irritated, sigh and dropped himself to the ground. He levelled his stern gaze at Ywain, his finger pointing directly at the boy.

 

"If I let you do this," Kay began and Ywain's face split into a large grin. "No, you listen! If I let you do this, you have to promise me that you won't do anything stupid."

 

"Promise," Ywain said immediately, his smile getting wider. Kay did not look happy. He turned his stern gaze and finger to Arthur.

 

"If you hurt him, I'll have you head on a pike."

 

"Charming," Arthur said wryly. As easy as it would have been to indeed to harm to Ywain, tiny as the boy was, Arthur had no motivation to do so. However Kay kept his hard gaze on Arthur until he finally threw up his arms in defeat.

 

"I won't harm him, on my honor. Are you happy?" Arthur snapped at the knight.

 

"No," Kay said, folding his arms over his chest. Ywain was pouting at the knight, Arthur could tell. Kay finally waved a hand. "Go on you stupid boy, but for Goddess Sake, be careful. I'll never be able to face your mother again if something were to happen to you."

 

Ywain squealed and launched himself forward, shoving his worn gold coin in the old man's hand. Arthur could feel the headache building already. If it wouldn't be incredibly rude to do so, Arthur would have begged Kay to force Ywain to stay behind. The old man turned expectantly towards Arthur.

 

"Well?" the old man asked, holding out his hand. Arthur shifted slightly, reluctantly. Arthur did not want to do this. He didn't want to part with the sigil, but he knew he had no choice.

 

"My lord," Ywain said softly. Arthur glared. "You must save Emrys."

 

Arthur scowled at the boy. Yes, he knew that. That didn't mean that he had to like it. With a knot of dread in his gut, Arthur handed the sigil to the old man.

 

"A merlin for Merlin," the old man said, his mouth splitting into a grin. Ywain looked to Arthur in confusion, but Arthur just grimaced, not bothering to say anything.

 

"The fair has been paid," the old man said with a smile as he dropped both the coin and the sigil into the bowl on the shrine. They clinked loudly as they struck the other coins, the sound seeming to echo of the cliff. The old man waved his oar and the stone wall of the cliff face shimmered to reveal a steep passage under the cliff.

 

The old man waved his oar at them, motioning them forward, into the darkness.


	3. The Well of Dreams Part I

 

Arthur wanted to vomit.

 

The old man had led them to a small boat that had been floating idly on the surface of an inky black river. He had hung his lantern from the curved pole at the bow of the boat and instructed Arthur and Ywain to board the boat. With a lurch, the old man had struck the water with his oar and began to push them along in the darkness.

 

With every lurch of the boat Arthur felt his stomach heave. He'd never been on a boat for very long before, and now he understood why.

 

It seemed like it was taking for hours to cross the river.

 

They were going so slowly. The old man would sink his oar deep into the water and give a great heave to push them along the still black water. Arthur thought that Ywain would have been gazing around in some sort of boyish wonder, but in fact Ywain looked stiff as a board. His back was completely straight, his face drawn tight and his eyes were firmly planted on the old man's back. He admired that Ywain was able to keep his composure. Arthur still felt as though he was about to hurl.

 

Biting back the bile, Arthur leaned over the boat, reaching out his hand to scoop up a handful of water, anything to try and ease his stomach. Just as his fingers were ready to graze the surface of the water, Ywain yelped.

 

"Don't!" the boy snapped loudly, snatching Arthur's wrist back.

 

Arthur was ready to snap back at the boy (or vomit on him, Arthur wasn't quite sure) but a loud groan stopped him. It was a long, mournful groan and it echoed throughout the cave, sending chills up Arthur's spine. Beside him, Ywain froze, his hand still on Arthur's wrist.

 

"You woke them up," the old man grumbled to Ywain, giving him an ugly look. The young prince gazed fearfully at the old man, his throat clicking as he swallowed hard.

 

Arthur turned his gaze back to the water, searching for the source of the groan. One groan followed the next, and suddenly Arthur would have sworn he was trapped in some sort of torture chamber. Pale gray blobs began to swell under the black water. At first Arthur thought perhaps they were some sort of strange fish and then one of the blobs burst forth from the water and Arthur nearly choked.

 

The blob resembled a corpse. It was pale and gray and Arthur could see a skull under the slimy membrane. It's jaw gaped open as it surged upward, as if trying to bite at them, but the skull just groaned, loud and mournful and it sank back down, but it did not submerge.

 

There were blobs rising out of the water all around the boat. Some had arms and hands, and they all loomed upward, trying to grasp onto the edges of the boat. Arthur tried to lurch upward to his feet, wanting to draw his sword, but Ywain gave another yelp and pulled him down. The old man scowled as the boat swayed dangerously from side to side.

 

"Enough! Sit down," the old man snapped as he purposefully kept rowing, plunging his oar in between the swarm of ugly, corporeal corpses. "They can't enter the boat, no matter how hard they try."

 

"What are they?" Arthur gasped as another slimy creature surged up, nearly brushing his face.

 

"The dead," Ywain gasped, his face pale as he watched the creatures lap at the sides of the boat like eager dogs swarming towards the scent of blood. For a moment Arthur felt an intense panic. There were dead spirits all around him, looking like half-rotted corpses, trying to drag him and Ywain under with them; to keep them wrapped in a slimy blanket of death for all eternity.

 

"You're alive," the old man huffed at them, struggling to drag his oar through the slimy creatures. "They're dead. They can sense your life force. They want it. Keep your limbs in the boat and you'll be fine. If you panic and fall off the boat, you'll quickly wish you were dead."

 

Ywain whimpered. Arthur wasn't sure what possessed him to do it, whether it was his own fear or if he just felt the need to protect the younger boy, but Arthur reached out and wrapped his arms around the younger prince. Ywain leaned eagerly back into Arthur's chest, his fingers clawing at Arthur's wrists in fright.

 

Arthur stayed stiff as the old man struggled along the river, his entire back hunched as he leaned hard on his oar. Arthur could feel Ywain shaking against him.

 

For what seemed like days, they rowed along the river at a snail's pace, the spirits of the dead clawing at the boat, their terrified groans bouncing in Arthur's ears.

 

And just when Arthur thought he would go mad from the cries and the agony, they fell away into a dead silence. Arthur could hear his own ragged breath and Ywain's shaky gasps as loud as drums. The boat lurched suddenly and then they were gliding through the water easily, as if they had broken through a stone barrier. Arthur wanted to ask what happened, why the dead spirits had gone quiet, but before he could open his mouth, there was a loud growl.

 

"We're here," the old man said with an exhausted sigh. His oar wasn't sinking as deep in the water, clearly they were getting closer to shore. Arthur craned his neck to try to see where they were docking, but the lantern at the front of the boat showed very little.

 

"Arthur," Ywain whimpered from his spot tucked against Arthur's chest. Arthur looked down to see Ywain's eyes bugged wide, gazing up toward the ceiling of the cave. Arthur looked up and suddenly he wanted to vomit all over again.

 

"What the hell is that?" Arthur whispered, afraid of alerting the beast to their presence. Looming far above them was the head of an enormous beast. Despite the light, Arthur could only make out long white canines and bright red eyes. He could feel a warm, moist blast of air as the beast exhaled, washing them with it's foul smelling breath.

 

"Garmr," the old man said. The beast's red eyes immediately flickered down to the old man, it's lip lifting in a quiet snarl. The old man huffed as the boat finally came to a stop on the shore. The old man waved for the two princes to remain seated, although it was unneeded, as neither had so much as twitched. As the man fumbled in his cloak for a moment, there were two other growls that joined the first.

 

Arthur watched in horror as two more beastly heads jutted out from the darkness, eagerly leaning towards them, their jaws opened as their vision narrowed in on the old man. Arthur wanted to call to the old man, but his throat was clenched tight with fear. Just as Arthur thought this was how they all died, the old man gave out a triumphant 'aha!' and pulled his hand from his cloak.

 

"Here, you foul beasts," the old man snapped. From his cloak the man had produced several handfuls of mud and clay. The old man hurled up a handful to each of the heads, their jaws opening happily to consume the earth. As the beasts chewed happily on the mud, Arthur realized that each of the three long necks all connected to the same body. The beast had three heads.

 

"Garmr guards the underworld," the old man said with a shrug. "He makes sure that none of the dead escape back to the world of the living. Now move along. The earth from the living world represents flesh. As long as they eat that mud, they won't eat you."

 

Ywain scrambled off the boat with Arthur right behind him. The ground beneath them was filled with black mud and sharp white rocks. Arthur watched the three-headed beast warily as each head chewed on the handfuls of mud the old man had given them.

 

"Thank you Charon," Ywain said as he bowed to the old man. The old man smiled and rooted in his cloak again. He pulled out a small sack.

 

"Not many know my name, young prince," Charon said, handing over the sack. "More clay from the land of the living. Feed each head a handful on your way out, otherwise it will devour you."

 

"Will you be here waiting?" Ywain asked, tying the sack to his belt. The old man, Charon, shook his head with a knowing smile.

 

"You won't be coming out this way," Charon said, lifting his bony finger to point past the blanket of darkness to a large, black iron gate that Arthur had failed to notice until now. "Navigate carefully, don't get distracted. You have just over a week to find the merlin bird."

 

"A week?" Arthur exclaimed. "How? We were just-"

 

"Time moves different here," Charon said with a  shrug. "It took four days to get across the river. Would have been less if the dead had stayed asleep."

 

Ywain looked at the ground, a guilty look on his face.

 

"Navigate carefully." Charon warned one final time as he used his oar to propel his boat back into the river. Arthur wanted to call out to the ferryman, but the three-headed beast looming above was staring intently, almost hungrily at them. Arthur reached for Ywain's shoulder, dragging him towards the gate that creaked open slowly as they approached. Garmr, the three-headed beast, craned it's heads to watch as the duo made their way through the gate, soft growls following them the whole way.

 

Arthur shivered as they passed the gate. The air had grown cold and stale very quickly. It burned to breath. However it wasn't the air that chilled Arthur, it was the bones that were dangling from the gate, and the bejeweled skulls stuck on pikes that truly made him uneasy. Perhaps the gate was decorated with the corpses of those who had tried to escape death, purposefully put on display for all those who would dare to defy the laws of the underworld.

 

"What are you staring at?" Arthur hissed quietly at Ywain, who was staring so intently at the ground, he'd damn near tripped over a pointed stake that held a laughing skull with gold teeth and a crooked crown. Ywain was pale as he walked, this time pressing ever so closer to Arthur.

 

"The teeth," he said simply, now taking in all the gruesome imagery around them. Arthur turned his eyes downward. Sure enough, the small white pebbles that had littered the shore weren't rocks at all, but teeth. Scattered throughout the black soil of the underworld were dozens and dozens of teeth.

 

Arthur wanted to vomit. Again.

 

\--

 

"How did you know his name?" Arthur asked as they wandered through a dull looking field. After their rather dramatic entrance into the realm, Arthur hadn't expected the _actual_ underworld to look so…boring. The field itself was dry and yellow with dead grass. There were pale white trees with black spots, just like in Hel's Wood, but these were all crooked and ugly. To the right there was a thick stream that ran next to them. Ywain had called it Styx.

 

"My mother told me," Ywain said absently, his gaze firmly planted on a worn map that he'd pulled from his bag the second they'd entered the field. Apparently, Ywain's mother had prepared almost everything for this trip. The map in Ywain's hands was supposed to be a very detailed map of the underworld. The map showed various rivers, trees, totems and castles, but Arthur could see none of them from where they were, despite that the field was entirely flat.

 

"She comes here often?" Arthur asked wryly. He didn't expect the boy to answer, after all Arthur was just purposefully being an ass and he knew it. Arthur glanced over Ywain's shoulder at the map, wondering exactly where Merlin would be.

 

"She's been here loads of times," Ywain said casually, as if they were talking about the weather or a tournament.

 

Arthur stared at the boy.

 

"You're mother…has been here? Multiple times?" he asked, slightly skeptical. Ywain flushed when he noticed.

 

"That's what she said," the boy muttered, studying his map again. "If the map is right, up ahead should be the Well of Dreams. It's a short cut to the Vale of Mourning. That should save us at least three days. Once we pass through there, we follow the Phlegethon river through the Fields of Judgement and straight to the Palace of Death. Then we rescue Emrys, and if this map is correct, we follow the Lethe river to the Gates of Ivory and we're free to go."

 

Arthur continued to stare at the boy.

 

"I have no idea what you just said," Arthur muttered as they continued to walk. The older prince was still hung up on the idea of someone visiting the land of the dead as if it were a vacation spot. Ywain shrugged, stuffing the map in his pocket.

 

They walked for what felt like another few hours. Arthur was beginning to feel hungry. He had eaten all his rations while being lost in Hel's Wood. He had no idea it would take him a week to travel what he thought was such a short distance. His stomach rumbled loudly, causing him a bit of embarrassment. Ywain smiled at him and produced a bruised apple from his bag, offering it to Arthur.

 

"Take it," the boy insisted as he fished out an apple for himself. "You can't eat or drink anything you see in the underworld. You'll get stuck here if you do. It drives you mad."

 

"I wasn't aware," Arthur said quietly as he bit into his apple. That explained why Ywain had panicked when he'd tried to drink the water from the river.

 

"I can tell," Ywain scolded. "You didn't do any research on the underworld before you came here, did you?"

 

"I apologize," Arthur bit at the boy. "My mother didn't spend her summers here."

 

Ywain flushed and bit angrily into his apple. After a few tense minutes of uncomfortable silence, Arthur began to feel guilty. This boy, and yes he was a _boy_ , was only trying to help him. It would be much easier for Ywain to ditch Arthur and claim Merlin for himself. After all, that was the point of the quest. Instead, Ywain had chosen to help Arthur.

 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that," Arthur said quietly, looking sideways at the younger prince. The blue marks painted across Ywain's face flickered for a moment and Arthur was being to think he was hallucinating.

 

"It's fine," Ywain said after a moment. "My mother isn't exactly… _normal_. She worked with spirits a lot. Helped uneasy souls, that sort of thing. She said she retired from that when she had me. Now she uses her magic to heal the sick, like a normal witch."

 

"Ah," Arthur said, nodding wisely. He felt incredibly stupid. He had no idea what the hell a _normal_ witch even was. When Arthur thought of a witch, he thought of a woman cackling evilly over a cauldron. Somehow he doubted that was what Ywain's mother did. He eyed the blue marks on the boys face. "Is that normal then?"

 

"The woad?" Ywain asked with a smile, pointing to his own face. He nodded. "When you want to learn the healing Arts from a priestess, you have to take the woad. It's how they tell who their people are. It's how they protect themselves."

 

_From people like you._

 

Ywain didn't say it, but he didn't have to. Arthur knew full well that Ywain lived in a completely different world than he did. Uther had isolated Camelot from most other kingdoms with his hatred of magic. From what Arthur understood, after his birth was when many magic users fled Camelot and all the surrounding lands. Only the druids seemed to stay in Camelot. Everyone else seemed to understand that anything to do with the Pendragons would mean certain death.

 

"Why are you helping me?" Arthur finally asked. The question had been nagging him for days now. He couldn't understand why a prince with magic would help a prince who executed magic users. Ywain smiled at him, a soft smile that seemed to hide years worth of wisdom.

 

"Because I believe in you," he said cryptically. "And I believe in the world that you and Emrys will build."

 

Arthur wanted to ask what the _hell_ he was talking about, but before he could open his mouth to form the question, he was struck in the head with something rather hard.

 

"Ow!" he yelped, staggering back. He heard Ywain gasp besides him.

 

"The Well of Dreams," Ywain said, the boyish awe filling his voice. Arthur rolled his eyes. The Well was simply that - a well. It was raised up on a dais, covered with thick layers of tree branches, as if the trees flanking either side had weaved themselves together.

 

Arthur had been struck in the head by a bone.

 

The trees had grown closer and thicker, something Arthur failed to notice. Hanging from the trees were ornaments made from bones, feathers and cracked beads tied together with frayed string. Of course, Arthur had managed to get clocked in the head with a bone. Arthur rubbed his forehead. He could already feel it starting to swell.

 

Ywain had already bound up the dais to the Well. Everywhere was covered with thick patches of ivy. Arthur could feel a tingling in his spine, like when the Triple Goddess had appeared before him. He stiffened as he reluctantly drew closer to the well. Magic rolled off the Well so strongly, it seemed to be a physical mist. Arthur shivered.

 

"How is a _well_ supposed to be a short cut?" Arthur asked with a frown as he slowly approached the Well. Arthur didn't share the younger princes enthusiasm over the Well. It reeked of magic, as if magic had a scent. It was enticing, but Arthur knew it was dangerous. Of course, it was magic so obviously it was dangerous, but there was something more. A well in the underworld didn't seem like a very trustworthy thing, magic or no.

 

"According to the map, the bottom of the Well connects to a pond right beside the Vale of Mourning. We _could_ continue through the field, but that would take much longer." Ywain said absently. The boy seemed fixated on the alluring beauty of the Well. Arthur shivered. He couldn't appreciate it nearly as much as the younger prince.

 

"And _why_ is it called the Well of Dreams?" Arthur asked, glancing around the thicket of trees as if he expected a band of sorcerers to burst forth from between them. Actually, he did sort of expect something like that. His letter had said reaching Merlin wouldn't be easy. A short cut though a well seemed rather easy.

 

"I'm not really sure," Ywain said thoughtfully as he pulled out his map again. The young prince studied the map hard for a few minutes. Finally the boy shrugged and stuffed the map back into his bag. Ywain gazed at the Well with a stern look, something Arthur hadn't really seen on the boy's face too often.

 

"Mother said the Well plays tricks on you and can be difficult to navigate. It shows you visions. I'm not sure of what, Mother wouldn't say." Ywain pouted. "I guess she wants me to figure it out on my own."

 

Arthur said nothing. Ywain's mother almost reminded Arthur of his father. There were many times when Uther would try to be cryptic in order to force Arthur to think on his own. Whether it was hunting, jousting or dealing with politics, Uther had no problem forcing Arthur to think on his feet. Arthur wondered if Ywain's mother was as ruthless as Uther when it came to raising a child.

 

"Let's go," Ywain chirped suddenly, swinging his leg over the side of the Well. Arthur spluttered as he was quickly yanked out of his own musings.

 

"You can't just jump into a well! You don't know how deep it is!" Arthur snapped. Ywain rolled his eyes, as if Arthur had said something absoulutely stupid.

 

"It's magic," the boy said simply, as if that were all the explanation he needed. Before Arthur could even begin to say, _of course it's magic you can't trust it,_ Ywain leapt into the Well, feet first. Arthur stood frozen, waiting to hear the sickening crack of bone meeting stone, but it never came. Carefully Arthur inched his way over to the Well and gazed inside of it.

 

There was a draft of frigid air coming up from the Well. It made Arthur break out into goose bumps, despite his heavy armor. He staggered back away from the Well. He couldn't do this. Arthur didn't know why he thought he ever thought he could do this. He would just go back. He'd fight the three-headed beast and he'd swim through the river of corpses, but he _would not_ leap into a well filled to the brim with magic. He couldn't-

 

_"This place is meant to drive you mad Arthur. Don't let it."_

  
That was Merlin's voice. Arthur turned his head this way and that, expecting to see Merlin standing in the trees, but there was nothing. Arthur wanted to laugh. He was already going mad. He didn't need a _well_ to make him go mad. The entire quest was mad. Merlin having magic was mad. A shape-shifting goddess thinking he somehow had magic in his blood was mad. Three headed beasts and cranky old men who carried oars were mad.

 

Arthur wasn't doing this.

 

Just as he turned away from the Well and began marching back towards the field, he heard another voice, this time in his head, a memory.

 

_Whoever rules Emrys will rule Albion as High King. I have worked too hard and spilled too much blood to allow it all to fall apart._

 

Arthur froze.

 

For a long moment, longer than Arthur would ever admit to, the prince simply stood there. He thought about Camelot mostly. He thought about all the towns people and the castle staff. He thought about his knights and Morgana. He even thought about his father. And then he thought about Merlin. And Gaius. And Gwen.

 

He thought about everyone who would be in danger if he didn't complete this quest. If he couldn't save Merlin. He thought about how Merlin would feel if some other prince ruled him because Arthur was too much of a coward to jump into a well.

 

Arthur thought about the look on Merlin's face if the sorcerer was forced to destroy the place he called home for the last several years. Arthur thought about how he would feel if he had to protect Camelot _from_ Merlin. Would he even be able to raise his sword to Merlin?

 

Arthur highly doubted it.

 

_…spilled too much blood to allow it to all fall apart._

 

Arthur couldn't allow for there to be anymore blood. He didn't understand half of what the Triple Goddess had said in her cryptic tongue, but Arthur knew that she was right when she said Merlin's magic would be abused by others. He wouldn't see Camelot come under siege because of his own cowardess.

 

Reluctantly, Arthur turned back to the Well. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. He approached the Well, despite every instinct in his head telling him to run. He shivered when he stepped on the dais. He wanted to vomit again as he looked into the inky black depths of the Well.

 

_This place is meant to drive you mad. Don't let it._

 

 _Too late,_ Arthur thought wryly as lifted his leg into the Well. He sat on the edge for a long moment before he took a deep breath.

 

_Just do it and get it over with. Like jumping into a cold river when you're hunting and you need a bath. Just do it._

 

It took another full minute for Arthur to gain his nerve. Finally he took a deep breath as if he were actually about to plunge into water and shoved himself off the edge.

 

\--

 

Arthur jolted awake.

 

For a second, he still felt like he was falling in that damned well. His heart was pounding in his chest, his senses still high on the adrenaline. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

 

He was in Camelot. In his bed.

 

"I'm surprised you're awake already," a cheerful voice said. Suddenly Arthur was assaulted with a flash of sunlight as his curtains were ripped open. Arthur groaned at the offensive light and immediately wanted to shove his pillow back over his head.

 

Why was Merlin always so damn cheerful in the morning?

 

"Merlin?" Arthur asked with a tinge of awe. Sure enough, there was Merlin, fluttering around the room, laying out Arthur's clothes for the morning. His manservant smiled brightly at him.

 

Arthur just stared at him. Arthur _knew_ he wasn't dreaming, but he also knew he hadn't been dreaming when he had gone to save Merlin. Merlin had been kidnapped, he remembered that vividly. Arthur had been going to rescue him. He remembered that too.

 

Surely, that wasn't all a dream?

 

Arthur didn't have too much time to ponder it. Merlin was already tugging the prince out of bed and shoving him behind his changing screen. Maybe Arthur was just overthinking everything. He had had vivid dreams like this before. That's what he got for letting his father's rants on sorcery get to him. Merlin, with magic?

 

Arthur laughed to himself as he tried to shake the dream off. Of course, Merlin with magic was stupid. Arthur entertained the idea of going to Gaius for something to lessen his dreams, like the old man did for Morgana.

 

"Are you almost done?" Merlin called from the other side of the screen. "Your mother wants everyone to have breakfast together this morning. You're going to be late if you don't hurry."

 

Arthur froze.

 

"My…my mother?" Arthur asked slowly. He stepped out from behind the screen and stared at Merlin as if he had grown a second head. In turn, Merlin looked at the prince as if he'd hit his head, which Arthur was beginning to think he did.

 

"Yes. You know, your _mother_? The Queen?" Merlin asked him as if Arthur were being positively stupid.  When Arthur just continued to stare at him, Merlin rolled his eyes and grabbed the princes arm.

 

"If we're late your father will blame me. I do _not_ want to spend the day in the stocks because you managed to give yourself a concussion." Merlin said with a frown as he tugged Arthur out the door.

 

\--

 

_Mother said the Well plays tricks on you and can be difficult to navigate. It shows you visions._

 

Arthur was positive it wasn't a dream. He was in the Well of Dreams. Now he just had to find a way _out._

 

"Arthur, dear? Are you alright?" the woman next to him asked softly, her hand brushing his. Arthur plastered a smile on his face, trying to ignore the sick knot in his throat.

 

"Of course mother," he replied. His mother, no, the _vision_ of his mother was sitting next to his father at the table. She looked more beautiful than any painting he had ever seen. Uther looked like a completely different man next to her. His father kept smiling and holding his mother's hand as if she were the greatest treasure in all of Camelot.

 

Arthur kept waiting for something sinister to happen. After all, he was obviously dealing with magic. Everything seemed so _perfect,_ but Arthur knew not to let his guard down. He had come this far in his quest, he wasn't going to die here.

 

But how was he supposed to get _out?_

 

This most certainly wasn't the Camelot that he left, Arthur knew that. There were little things, like how happy his father looked. Uther looked far younger and less angry, but Arthur supposed this is exactly what his father would be like had his mother not died. Morgana was different too. She didn't have the dark circles under her eyes like Arthur's Morgana. Uther hadn't asked how Morgana had slept the night before. Perhaps this Morgana didn't suffer from nightmares.

 

Then there were the more obvious things. Like how the servants used magic.

 

Arthur had damned near smack his face into a wall when he'd seen the laundress waving her hand at a basket of linenes and they had immediately started to fold themselves into neat little bundles. The guards hadn't batted an eye, and neither had Merlin.

 

Everyone seemed very happy. Arthur wasn't used to all the servants looking so cheerful, especially when he walked by. Sure, all the servants had always smiled politely and bowed to him in respect, but somehow in this world al the servants seemed genuinely happy to see him.

 

Arthur needed to get away from these people and figure a way out of here.

 

Arthur turned a little so he could see Merlin, who was tucked against the wall like the other servants. His manservant was the strangest of the imposters. Merlin seemed almost exactly the same. It made Arthur uneasy.

 

Arthur straightened in his seat and began to slowly eat his breakfast, all the while trying to find a way out of this strange nightmare.


	4. The Well of Dreams Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was not supposed to take this long. Frankly, Ywain was not supposed to become a fully fleshed out character, but this chapter demanded that he did. For the longest time I just wanted to solely focus on Arthur, but the flow just felt kind of dead when I did that. So, Ywain is officially his own character. And he was a bitch to write. I didn't intend for the Well of Dreams to be a three part segment, but after looking at how much more I have to write before it's done I couldn't justify making it that long. This chapter alone is nearly 12,000 words. So, yeah. Three parts. After that I'm going to try and cut it down so that each of the other "trials" are only two parts, but I tend to make things far more complex than they need to be so I make no promises. 
> 
> I'm also thinking about writing a vampire!AU Merthur fic for Halloween (if you're interested feel free to let me know!). I haven't decided if I'm going to do it or not, but if I decide to do it, then this story will be put on the back burner until November. Either way, this story isn't dead, it's just hard to write lol.
> 
> Also, I love everyone's comments. I love hearing from my readers, so if you have left me a comment, I thank you very much. Even if I don't respond, rest assured that I read every one multiple times!

 

Merlin felt like he was dying.

 

He didn't know where he was, but he was cold. Cold and weak. His magic still felt like a maimed limb. When Merlin opened his eyes, he didn't expect to be able to see. He thought he would wake up in darkness again. The room he was held in was indeed wrapped in shadows, but Merlin was able to make out shapes in the darkness. Although it pained him, Merlin was able to lift his head and tilt his neck so he could observe his surroundings.

 

He was in some sort of tower.

 

It took every ounce of will power in his body, but Merlin was able to drag himself to his hands and knees to get a proper look around. Definitely in a tower. There was no door. There were only tiny oval shaped cut outs in the black stone walls of the tower. Merlin crept forward to peak through one of them, hoping to catch a glimpse of something familiar.

 

Merlin was hoping the tower was part of a castle, something he could navigate through and escape. However, as he stuck his head out of one of the windows, looking left and right, Merlin realized he was trapped in a lone tower like the damsel Arthur always told him he was. There was no connecting castle or walls, just a lone tower jutting high into the sulfur smelling clouds.

 

In an attempt to learn more about his surroundings, Merlin turned his eyes downward.

 

 _That was a mistake,_ Merlin thought as his stomach heaved and his head swirled violently. He was high up, much farther up than he had ever been in his life, he was sure. The tower loomed above the ground so high up that thin wisps of fog were curling around the center of tower, the ground barely visible. There was a faint screeching in the distance that sounded vaguely like a wyvern. Below him were miles and miles of land. He could see several rivers running across fields and on one side there was a line of fire burning it's way through a plain.

 

Merlin shivered at the sight and pulled away to return to the inside of the tower. He was definitely no where familiar.

 

Merlin wanted a place to seat himself, but there was no where but the floor. Upon closer inspection, Merlin noticed strange writings and symbols drawn on the floor. Burned out candles and charms were strewn about the room in seemingly no particular order, but Merlin knew better.

 

He had read enough of Gaius' books to know magic when he saw it, much less _feel_ it.

 

There was something _wrong_ to all of this. The symbols on the floor marked out a seal, Merlin knew that, but it was a very specific seal. What the seal did, Merlin hadn't the faintest idea, but the more he paid attention to it, the more he could feel the eerily magic brimming around the seal.

 

"Hello?" Merlin called out into the inky shadows at the edge of the room. He assumed Death was lurking somewhere nearby. It seemed unlikely that he would be left to himself here. Merlin called out into the shadows again, but there was no answer. Merlin began to move around the room, inspecting everything he could.

 

Built into one of the walls was a large fireplace. When Merlin approached, the wood neatly piled in the center burst to life, the fire crackling softly but emitting no smoke. The flames burned strongly, but not very hot. The little burst of heat was welcome however, as it helped chase away the chill on his skin. It also managed to give off enough light to help Merlin inspect the rest of the room.

 

There were no furnishings in the room, simply the seal on the stone floor. The various charms and decorated candles were unrecognizable to Merlin, but they seemed to be placed every so perfectly in the room, and he knew for certainty that they were not random placements. The only object in the room that Merlin noticed was a mirror hanging on a wall, directly above the fireplace.

 

The mirror was intricate, but didn't seem very magical, rather very out of place. Merlin, curious as to why a mirror would be in a lonely tower, moved closer to inspect it. To Merlin, it didn't feel very magical, but there were a series of runes inscribed on the frame, insinuating that the mirror had some sort of power.

 

Merlin wasn't very good with runes, but considering there was nothing else interesting in the room, Merlin decided to decipher the runes. With any luck, Merlin would be able to use the mirror's magic to escape. Merlin had no doubt in his mind that Arthur would be getting himself into trouble, magical trouble and he would be relying on Merlin to save him.

 

\---

 

Ywain woke up in a field, propped up against a tree with a heavy tome in his lap.

 

For a moment, he blinked up at the dapples of sunlight peaking through the leaves, trying desperately to remember where he was. Ah, yes. He was sitting in the fields outside the castle, reading. Of course, he always did this during the afternoons, but Ywain felt like he had been doing something, of that Ywain was _sure_ , but he had absolutely no idea -

 

"My Lord!" called a voice, shaking him from his thoughts.

 

Ywain turned to see Sir Kay standing a few yards away from him, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Ywain sighed internally. He didn't want to listen to another lecture about being away from the castle without protection.

 

"Your mother has been looking for you," Kay said gruffly, coming to stand a few paces away. Ywain waited, holding his breath. He was sure Kay was going to launch into a long winded rant about why it was dangerous for the first born prince to be wondering so far away from the castle. Kay looked at Ywain with an expectant look, obviously waiting for an explanation from the prince.

 

"Oh," Ywain said in a bit of a daze at the turn in Kay's behavior. It was rather unlike the older knight to give Ywain a chance to defend himself. He gazed down at the large tome in his lap feeling slightly stupid. "I must have fallen asleep while I was reading…"

 

Sir Kay sighed as he looked down on Ywain with a rare expression that was softer, but still disapproving.

 

"Lord Ywain," he started. "How do you plan to run a kingdom if all you do is hide out here with your books?"

 

Ywain immediately forgot what he had been trying to remember when he had first woken up. He narrowed his eyes at the knight. Kay wasn't the sort to tease him about the line of succession.

 

Galahad was the second son of King Urien and Queen Nineve, younger than Ywain by nearly three years. Though many tried to not mention it in Ywain's presence, it was well known throughout the kingdom that the King had every intention of crowning his second son the crown prince, not Ywain.

 

For any other prince, it would be incredibly shameful to have their _younger sibling_ surpass them. Ywain didn't necessarily care about the crown. He enjoyed studying his magic more than he did learning politics. Galahad on the other hand took to politics like he was made for it. The King always called Galahad his "true son." Ywain was seen as his mother's son, made for magic not war. Ywain would be a liar if he said it didn't wound him to hear his father say such things.

 

"You said mother wanted to see me?" Ywain snapped at Kay as he brushed off his pants and tucked his book under his arm. Ywain wasn't sure why Kay would make such a nasty joke, but he had no intention of humoring him. The young prince didn't wait for a response before he was moving across the fields to the castle.

 

 _Just ignore them,_ his mother had told him _If they can get a rise from you, they'll keep doing it._

 

Ywain made his way across the field and up the sloping hill that lead to the castle. He remembered his mother's words well. She had told him that when Ywain had been twelve and he'd broken the nose of some noble's son when the other boy had mocked him for being the unwanted child. There were plenty of other cruel rumors and jokes that had circulated through the castle over the years, but Ywain had become very well versed in biting his tongue when hearing them. That didn't mean his ego and pride were any less wounded.

 

By the time Ywain reached the top of the hill and began weaving through the castle, he was fuming. He began working his way down halls and past servants to the east wing. The Queen usually was in the east wing's highest tower, performing one experiment or another. After one too many explosions and foul smells, his father had lovingly "gifted" her the tower. In reality he was banishing her to the tower, but his mother had taken that fact with grace and had decided it would be best if she had her own tower where neither she or her experiments would be bothered.

 

"Ywain!"

 

Ywain scowled to himself and moved a little faster, not bothering to acknowledge the voice behind him. It was the last person he wanted to see in that moment, and he feared what he would say if he had to face that person. Just when the young prince thought he'd gotten away, a strong hand lashed out and caught him firmly by the arm, jerking him to a halt.

 

"My dear brother, where are you off to in such a hurry?"

 

Ywain sighed. He was hoping to escape Galahad and his relentless teasing, but it seemed that was not happening today. Ywain turned to his brother, his back stiff and straight, trying to look official.

 

"Mother wished to see me," Ywain said with a scowl. Galahad was everything that Ywain was not, he noticed with a hint of disdain. Ywain may have had his father's hair and eyes, but he was built slim and short like his mother. Galahad on the other hand had gotten their mother's dark hair and eyes, but the strong build of their father. Three years younger than Ywain yet he was already half a head taller. It was simply one more reminder that Galahad was the perfect heir for the throne, despite being younger than Ywain.

 

"Let me escort you, my lord," Galahad said with deep sincerity. Ywain eyed Galahad with suspicion. He and Galahad had never gotten along, even as small children. Galahad had only ever called him 'my lord' with a sarcastic tone. His brother was very aware that most of their own people held him in higher esteem than Ywain, and he loved to lord that over his older sibling at any chance he got.

 

Ywain glanced, untrusting, around the halls, looking for any of the other nobles that often helped Galahad play tricks on him.

 

The corridors were empty.

 

"Why?" Ywain blurted. "What's wrong with you? Are you sick? Do you need to get a remedy from Mother?"

 

"You're my brother," Galahad said slowly, his head docking in confusion. "I just want to walk with you."

 

Ywain stared blankly at his brother. Finally he shrugged and continued on his way to the tower. Ywain was familiar enough with Galahad's tricks. He was sure he could evade whatever his brother was up to. It was best not to keep his mother waiting. If he were to be delayed because of Galahad, well then his younger brother would have to face their mother's wrath.

 

Nineve was exactly where Ywain thought she would be, tucked off onto the large overhanging balcony that was perched above the storeroom she used for herbs and equipment. The Queen was scrying over her cauldron when her sons walked in. They both waited quietly by the door, careful to wait for permission before entering the room, lest they trigger a trap or upset one of her experiments. Finally the Queen lifted her head and spotted them. She waved them over with a quick wave of her hand, her gaze going back to her cauldron.

 

"You took your time getting here," Nineve said drily as Ywain approached. The prince stiffened. His mother was very strict at the worst of times, but Ywain was sure he hadn't taken too long in answering her summons.

 

"I came as soon as I could, mother," Ywain replied quietly. His mother looked up and caught a glimpse of Galahad. Ywain felt a sour taste in his mouth when she smiled at him.

 

"Lady Mother," Galahad said primly before bowing. Ywain could feel his mouth tighten as he forced himself not to frown. Why did his brother have to be such a _suck up?_ Their mother was never referred to as "Lady Mother" unless they were in court, and that was simply for appearances.

 

"Galahad dear," Nineve said kindly to her younger son with a serene smile that made Ywain green with envy. "Can you give Ywain and I a moment alone?"

 

"Of course mother," Galahad said politely as he bowed to her, and strangely enough to Ywain as well and took his leave. The moment the door clicked shut the gentle smile on his mother's face was wiped away. She scowled at Ywain.

 

"You're taking too long," she snapped at her oldest son. Ywain blinked at her.

 

"I don't understand," he said hesitantly. That made her frown more, her brows pinching on her forehead.

 

"You don't even know where you are," she said incredulously. Her mouth twitched in annoyance. "I chose you for this quest. Your father insisted we send Galahad, but I told him that you were stronger than your brother, that you were _trained_ for this. Yet here you are, disappointing me."

 

Ywain felt a twinge in his chest. It was the same nagging feel he'd gotten under the tree in the field. There was something he was forgetting, something he was doing before…

 

"Remember where you are," she snapped at him. Ywain struggled to remember, to decipher his mother's riddle. He was home, he was in the castle, he was in her tower…what on Earth had he been doing before this?

 

His mother suddenly looked very disappointed.

 

"I was afraid you would get stuck here," she said sadly. "The creatures are too strong. You're caught in the illusion, it's distracted you."

 

"Mother I don't under-"

 

"You'd better understand soon," his mother snapped, her previous sadness gone. "Because I can tell you, Prince Arthur will need your help."

 

Ywain was about to ask who the hell Arthur was, but suddenly it all came crashing down on him. He was on a quest. He was in the well. Nineve lifted her hand and beckoned him forward to look into her cauldron. He inched forward and glanced at the reflection. Sure enough, he could see himself, barely in the darkness, but he could tell it was him. He was asleep, slumped against the wall, two thick grey arms wrapped around him in a macabre sort of embrace. It made him shiver.

 

"How do I escape?" He asked, his tone serious. He couldn't believe it; he'd actually gotten sucked into the illusion. His mother had been preparing him for so long for this quest (whether she was aware of it or not was a question he would leave unasked until he returned home).

 

"You wake up," Nineve said with a careless shrug. Her face was very serious as she leaned forward, whispering in his ear. "Keep your eye on Galahad."

 

By the time Ywain opened his mouth to ask her _why_ she was gone.

 

\---

 

"Do you like it here?" Morgana asked.

 

After things had become rather awkward at breakfast, Morgana insisted that she take Arthur on a walk to clear his head. Arthur had gone along with it, simply for the fact that he couldn't stand to look at his mother anymore. Not that he thought badly of her, quite the opposite. Ygraine was everything that Arthur had always dreamed she would be. It simply unnerved him to see his mother smile so easily, and look so heartbroken when Arthur could only muster a half-hearted lift of his mouth in return.

 

"What do you mean?" he asked her somewhat suspiciously. If there was one thing that was _not_ different about this Morgana, it was her fondness for teasing him. Her eyes would twinkle and she would give a slight smirk and crinkle her eyes just ever so slightly at him in a silent laugh.

 

Morgana rolled her eyes in a dramatic fashion.

 

"Don't be coy," she said irritably. "Coyness is only cute on a woman. You and I both know you aren't from here. You're from somewhere different."

 

Arthur stared at her in shock. Arthur didn't think that anyone else had _known_ he didn't belong here. Morgana rolled her eyes again as if reading his mind. It was such a simple gesture, something so _Morgana_ that Arthur had to take a second to remind himself that he was actually stuck in some magic well in the underworld.

 

"Of course I know, we all do. We don't have an Arthur," Morgana said easily as they continued on their walk through the gardens. "Ours was a stillborn."

 

She said it so casually, so at ease, that for a second it unnerved Arthur. Morgana had always been outspoken and straight forward in how she talked to people, but never had he heard her speak easily about anything so morbid.

 

"They always wanted you," she said kindly this time, looking at Arthur. "And now they have a chance to have you. They're hoping you'll stay here with us. That's why they wanted to have breakfast. Well, Ygraine insisted and Uther does anything to make her happy."

 

"I noticed," Arthur said. He may not have picked up on much during his very brief stay in the realm, but he definitely saw that his father was a completely different man with his mother present. And it made some sort of sense, to long for a child they had never had. After all, Arthur had always longed for the mother he never had.

 

"So," Morgana said, bumping her shoulder into his playfully and dragging him from his thoughts. "Do you like it here?"

 

There was a long pause as Arthur thought about it. There was plenty of things that unnerved him, such as the servants using magic, but so many things were the same as his Camelot, in fact Arthur might even say some things were better.

 

His father smiled a lot more, and was incredibly kind to the people. Morgana was confident and radiant, smiling brightly at everyone around her. And Ygraine was exactly how Arthur had always imagined she would be. Overall, Arthur couldn't really think of anything that was _wrong_ in this world.

 

"I guess," Arthur finally said. Morgana gave him one of her teasing smirks and raised her eyebrows at him. Arthur had to laugh a little at how much this Morgana and his were not really so different.

 

"It's not terrible," he said to her finally. "It's strange, and it's different."

 

Morgana smiled softly and nodded her head, as if it were just the answer she was hoping to get.

 

"I think that's acceptable." Morgana said with a smile. "We want you to stay you know, permanently."

 

"What?" Arthur asked, startled. Morgana smiled at him again, as if he were being particularly stupid.

 

"We want you to stay here with us," she said again, her voice teasing. "To be our Arthur. To replace the one that died, I mean."

 

"I…I don't think I-"

 

"You obviously don't have to decide now," she added hastily when she saw the look of horror that must have been on Arthur's face. "Just…think about it."

 

"Of course," Arthur said, nodding his head in agreement. The reality of staying in the world however, had his skin crawling. Magic or no, Arthur didn't feel right replacing a dead child. All of a sudden, Arthur wanted nothing more than to run away and start looking for a way out.

 

As if sensing his thoughts, the Merlin imposter (Arthur had to keep calling them imposters, or he may get them confused with the real thing) popped up behind them with a smile that was all too _Merlin_.

 

"Lady Morgana," he chided. "Wouldn't it be best to give Arthur some time to adjust? Perhaps we should let him look around before you start making proposals?"

 

The imposter Morgana smiled at the imposter Merlin.

 

"Of course," she said with a smile in Arthur's direction. It was surprisingly easy to smile back at her. Arthur couldn't help but to note that no matter how kind Morgana was to the servants, she would never take orders from them. Well, perhaps from Gwen she would, but not even Morgana would admit that. Arthur was absolutely positive that if Merlin had ever tried to order her, or even chide her, Morgana would have him whipped.

 

However, Arthur said nothing and the imposter Merlin whisked him away quickly, herding him towards the castle. There were moments when Arthur would have easily mistaken this Merlin for _his_ Merlin, but there were others where he would be too brazen, or he would be too flighty, like a cat about to be stepped on and the illusion would shatter.

 

"Your mother wants to know if you would like to have lunch with her in the garden. Your father has a council meeting, so he won't be there but-" the imposter Merlin started to ramble.

 

"She isn't my mother," Arthur cut it softly. As much as the idea appealed to him, Arthur didn't want to get lost in the idea of this world. "And he isn't my father. We both know that."

 

Imposter Merlin stopped suddenly and stared at him with wide eyes and shook his head.

 

"Don't let her hear you say that," Imposter Merlin said in a very serious tone. Suddenly the fake warlock brightened. "I'll tell her you'll have lunch with her. You go to your chambers and change into something more comfortable. I'll come fetch you when she's ready for you."

 

"Perfect," Arthur agreed with a too-bright smile. He shooed the imposter Merlin along, who at the change in Arthur's demeanor, rushed happily along to inform the Queen of their lunch plans. Arthur sighed, finally thrilled to have a moment to himself.

 

Now, to find a way _out_ of this strange place.

 

\--

 

Ywain didn't know how to wake up.

 

He had tried pinching himself. He tried holding his breath. He tried jumping off a high up place (to trick his brain into thinking he was really falling) and that had not ended well. Nothing had worked.

 

Suddenly all the strange things that had happened to Ywain (Kay implying he was to be king and Galahad being far too nice) made sense. The Well tricked you, that was what his mother had said. It was obvious now to Ywain that the Well tried to create a "perfect" world, something that made your own life seem miserable, something that made you want to stay.

 

These people were merely characters in a dream. Specifically, Ywain's dream.

 

That's what Ywain told himself when his father had grabbed him in a hug, telling him how proud he was of his son.

 

Ywain was ashamed to say that he had flushed in pleasure from the compliment. He knew that this wasn't his father, but that didn't stop him from enjoying the compliment. Ywain had wanted to continue on his search for a way out of the illusion of the Well, but Sir Kay had dragged him off to the throne room to help his father with partitions.

 

Normally, this was something that Galahad was responsible for, however the Well seemed to think that Ywain would enjoy this particular task. If Ywain was honest with himself, he didn't mind it as much as he thought he would. He had never cared for politics, preferring instead to bury himself in his mother's books, learning her magic, but it seemed he had a knack for helping people with realistic problems.

 

When the last of the petitioners were led out, King Urien had grabbed his son in a mighty hug, something so unexpected Ywain nearly cried out in alarm.

 

"You will make a fine king yet," Urien had said in a proud, booming voice. Ywain flushed a bright pink, and then a bright red when he noticed Galahad standing off to the side, grinning from ear to ear. It was so strange to see his father and his brother showering him with praise. Surely, King Urien wasn't _ashamed_ of his eldest son, Ywain was quite the sorcerer if truth be told, but nearly everyone in the castle knew that Ywain had no heart or stomach to rule a kingdom.

 

Ywain caught sight of his mother, standing off to the side, smiling in a soft way. Another strange thing. His mother loved her children, both of them equally, but she was not a very loving person. She was often too straightforward for her own good, especially with her husband, but more so with her sons. This illusion of his mother was far too kind in her gestures and it set Ywain's teeth on edge.

 

 _I have to wake up,_ he thought furiously to himself. He could not allow himself to be distracted by illusions. This was not his family. The sooner he found a way out, the sooner he would be reunited with his real family, even if they were a bit harder to live with.

 

If Galahad were here, Ywain's real brother not the illusion, then the younger prince would surely laugh at his magic wielding elder brother for wanting to cry, but it was true. Ywain could feel his eyes burn when he thought of being back in Rheged, holed away in his study with his mother, helping her put together some foul-smelling concoction, sitting in the solar leafing through a pile of her books-

 

_His mother's books._

 

Suddenly, Ywain's tears disappeared. Surely his mother's library still existed? The Queen had gathered scores of magical texts from all over the continent, and yet some from even farther. Often they were books of spirit workings and necromancy, but surely from all the time his mother had wandered the Underworld, she had collected books on the subject?

 

Ywain wasn't confident by any means, but now he had a firm plan in his mind. Perhaps his mother had a book on the creatures of the Underworld. Finding such information shouldn't be difficult. After all, this castle was identical to the one in the real world down to the smallest detail. Surely, that would include her books?

 

Ywain smiled brightly at his not-father and excused himself as quickly as he could. Once out of the throne room, the young prince ran for the east tower. The books he was searching for would be in one of three places: the Queen's personal library, the solar above her study or in her personal bedchamber.

 

Ywain prayed to the Gods that he did not have to go into his mother's bed chamber, for he remembered it being a fearsome place, and ran as quickly as he could to her library.

 

\--

 

Arthur was not pleased.

 

He had had less than an hour to try and find a way out of this strange, magic-well-induced dream, but he had officially run out of ideas. After the fake Merlin had left him, Arthur had indeed returned back to his chambers, hoping to find something out of place, a hint that would show him a crack in the world.

 

For the sake of going along with the story, Arthur had changed his tunic to avoid a suspicious not-Merlin. It was when he was changing that Arthur realized that Merlin's ( _his_ Merlin, not the fake one) neckerchief was still tied to his arm. Arthur wasn't sure when it appeared there, because he was certain it hadn't been there before. Arthur decided to just blame magic and continue on with his escape plan.

 

Clearly, there was nothing in his chambers. So, he decided to try the rest of the castle. He started off with obvious places, like the library and the throne room and the council chamber. Nothing. Each room was nearly identical to his own back in Camelot. Arthur eventually grew frustrated and burst from the castle and into the fields.

 

He was going to test just how far this insufferable illusion would go. Surely there was not enough magic in the world to create a fake Albion?

 

Arthur quickly moved from the castle and into the lower town. Ignoring all those who greeted him (and he felt it strange too that all these people greeted him when the Arthur of this world was supposed to have never existed in the first place) Arthur continued through the gates and into the rich green fields beyond.

 

At first, Arthur had stuck to the road that led directly into Camelot. When the path began to split into different directions, Arthur turned blindly and travelled through the trees. Finally, Arthur broke through the trees and found an empty field. He wasn't far off from Camelot at all. He could still see the proud white stone of the castle glittering from it's perch on the hill.

 

Arthur took off into the field. Just when he was starting to think that there was no end to this nightmare, something strange happened. The world flickered for a second, as if the sun had blinked. Arthur had paused, and then strode forward, finally thrilled to be making some progress.

 

Then before Arthur's eyes, the world began to dull. He strode forward, simply observing as the grass and sky around him began to pale and fade, as if something were sucking the life from it. As a child Arthur had once sucked the juice from a berry and the red flesh had faded into a dull pink. That was how he saw the world before him. As if a child were sucking the color from it.

 

"You shouldn't be out here," said a voice behind him. Arthur wasn't surprised to hear that voice, but he was exasperated.

 

"And why is that, _Mer_ lin?" Arthur retorted with his normal drawl. It was almost comical to be arguing with an illusion while the world around him faded into all shades of grey.

 

"She'll be upset," Not-Merlin murmured. The illusion followed Arthur as he continued across the field, everything fading now. Just when Arthur was going to ask more, there was a crumpling sound, as if someone were crumpling a piece of parchment in their hands.

 

Before Arthur's eyes, the world began to curl in on itself and peel away.

 

First it was the sky and the hills in the distance, then it was the field and the flowers, and finally the grass under his feet began to peel away like scraps of paper.

 

"What's happening?" he asked the not-Merlin in awe. Arthur hadn't stopped walking, not for a second. He was determined to test this magic to it's limits. If Arthur closed his eyes, he would tell anyone who asked that he was indeed walking on a flat surface, the ground. However with his eyes open, Arthur could see that he was walking on _nothing._

 

There were no recognizable shapes or colors to this world, just an open, grey existence. Arthur couldn't tell if he was moving forwards or backwards, left or right.

 

"That was all she made," Not-Merlin said drily. "I don't think she expected you to try to _run_."

 

Arthur turned to scowl at not-Merlin for the simple tone he had taken, but any words that Arthur would have had for him died in his throat.

 

Arthur still heard Merlin's voice clear as a bell, but there was no Merlin standing before him. The not-Merlin had turned grey as well, as Arthur should have expected, but he was also clearly not human. Not-Merlin still resembled Merlin in a very vague way, but suddenly the boy sagged, as if his spine had turned soft. His arms fluttered like paper, and his legs wobbled as if they were bearing a great weight. His face had shifted too. The skin on his face had sagged down, his eyes looking lost and glossy.

 

"What happened to you?" Arthur asked with a small tremble in his voice. If there was any part of him that doubted that this world was made of magic, he now had it confirmed. The not-Merlin shrugged his rubbery shoulders.

 

"I'm weak out here," Not-Merlin said, his voice beginning to waiver. "There isn't much magic."

 

Arthur wanted to ask him so many more questions, but just as his thoughts came together to be coherent, the world blinked again. As suddenly as the world had faded out, it was beginning to fade back in.

 

First, there were blobs that resembled shapes. Then the shapes twisted themselves into something familiar, little bits coming together like tiny shreds of paper being slotted neatly back together. Soon there was grass again, and fields and the sky. Then the color slowly bled back into the world.

 

Arthur was so taken by the display that it took him far longer than it should have to realize that they were outside of Camelot, exactly where they had left, only facing the opposite direction.

 

"We walked in a circle?" Arthur asked, again in awe. He hated sounding so amazed, but this extreme display of magic was impressive, even to him.

 

"Not quite," not-Merlin said. Arthur turned to the illusion and noticed that he looked completely like Merlin again, not like a wet doll in Merlin's clothes. He frowned at the not-Merlin. The illusion shrugged.

 

"Things work different here," he said. "I don't know how to explain it to you. She didn't make me to understand, she made me to serve you."

 

Arthur nodded and slowly made his way back to Camelot, the not-Merlin on his heels.

 

"She's waiting, you know," not-Merlin said. "You promised her lunch."

 

\--

 

Ygraine was waiting in a lavish garden behind the castle.

 

A thick purple blanket had been laid out on the grass, plates of food and jugs of wine scattered on it. There were a line of slack-faced servants standing against a wall on the far side, to assist their queen if called.

 

The Queen was delicately eating from a bowl of red berries as Arthur approached. At first, he thought she would scold him or show great displeasure at him being late, like Uther would have. Instead, when she caught sight of him, Ygraine smiled brightly as if seeing him alone had made her wait bearable.

 

"Arthur!" she exclaimed happily as she patted the blanket, inviting him to sit. Arthur felt a pang in his chest. He didn't know if it was guilt or longing. The not-Merlin, looking nervous and shifty, ducked his head to whisper something in the queen's ear.

 

Ygraine' face twisted into something ugly for a brief moment, as if the not-Merlin had whispered something unclean in her ear. The queen gave the not-Merlin an awful glare, with a hint of some cruel promise underneath, as she waved her had sharply at him. Dismissed, the not-Merlin scurried away meekly, for the first time looking fearful.

 

"Come and sit," Ygraine said kindly as she turned back to Arthur, the moment of ugliness gone. Arthur carefully lowered himself on the blanket. "I hear you took a walk."

 

"Tattle-tail," Arthur pouted childishly with a sharp look over his shoulder for the not-Merlin. The boy was pressed up against the wall with the other servants. At Arthur's glare, not-Merlin gave a nervous smile and ducked his head, at least having the good sense to look guilty. To Arthur's surprise, the queen laughed.

 

"Don't blame him dear," she giggled. She slid a tray of sweet meats towards him. "He's only doing what I ask. I am the Queen afterall."

 

Arthur nodded once, but he couldn't help but feel a little slighted. In his world, Merlin had been loyal to him, only him. There were many times when Merlin had even disobeyed the King because Arthur wished it. To have a Merlin who would tattle on him, even if it was to his mother, was a bit hurtful.

 

"You asked him to spy on me?" Arthur asked as he nibbled on a thin piece of bread. He wasn't hungry at all, but he supposed he had to at least _try_ to keep up pretenses. The Queen paused but smiled again, a gentle smile.

 

"I asked him to keep an eye on you," the Queen clarified, taking a sip of her wine. "To make sure that you were kept safe."

 

Arthur nodded quietly again, shoving a bit of cheese in his mouth. The longer he stayed here, the more he could feel his skin beginning to crawl. He didn't like the idea of his mother sending servants to spy on him, no matter what her reason.

 

"Oh!" the Queen exclaimed as if she had just been struck by a thought, her hand coming to rest on Arthur's arm. "We're having a tournament tomorrow to celebrate the Summer Solstice. I was hoping you'd join us."

 

Arthur tensed.

 

"The Summer Solstice can't be here already," he said. He tried to make it sound like a jest, but from the way her head cocked to the side like a bird eyeing a particularly interesting worm, Arthur knew she took his statement as the question it was.

 

"It's still a few days off," she said vaguely. Arthur frowned. It didn't seem likely that she was going to tell him how many days were left. Arthur feared that time would move quickly here in the Well, like it had when they rowed across the lake.

 

Arthur was pulled from his worrisome musings when he noticed Ygraine's hand petting the red neckerchief still stubbornly tied to his arm.

 

"How lovely," she said, but her tone was wary, cautious, unhappy even. Arthur wanted to pull away from her but he didn't for fear of offending her. 

 

"A favor from a lady?" she asked in a curious tone as she studied the worn neckerchief with a stern gaze. Arthur didn't think it wise to lie to her (he had been told often enough that mothers knew when their children were lying) but he also didn't want to tell her about Merlin lest she turn vicious on the not-Merlin.

 

"Certainly from a girl," he said with a wry smile. He certainly wasn't lying, Merlin acted enough like a girl to be called one, however he didn't know how the woman would respond if he told her another _man_ had given him a favor. Arthur and Merlin were abnormally close for a master and servant, any moron with eyes could see it. While most everyone in the castle seemed to accept their strange behavior as merely being close companions, Arthur didn't think they would be very accepting of open displays of _affection_. Well, what was considered affection by their noble society anyways.

 

Arthur knew that he and Merlin were often _too_ close. Even some of his knights regarded them warily during hunting trips or outings when Merlin would scoot his bedroll as close as he could to Arthur's without seeming indecent. Or when Arthur and Merlin would disappear into the woods longer than what was deemed necessary. Obviously, nothing improper happened between them. Arthur often times felt the need for solitude, and somewhere along the way solitude had come to include Merlin, but that did nothing to squash rumors.

 

Arthur took a deep breath to steady himself. The queen had ceased her inspection of the neckerchief and was now studying him, as if he were a particularly hard puzzle. He tried to smile at her in a way that would put her at ease, but he was not sure he succeeded. To distract himself, he shoved a slice of sweet meat into his mouth and busied himself with chewing. Ygraine seemed to accept his smiles and began to talk of things Arthur didn't particularly care for.

 

They were things that any normal queen would speak of, however Arthur couldn't concentrate on any thing the woman said. He had tried to listen when she described her plans for the garden, and how well so-and-so's son had grown, and how well the latest treaty was going, but he couldn't.

 

Ever since he had seen that neckerchief on his arm, all Arthur could think about was his own Merlin, and how important it was to escape from this world.

 

"Arthur?" his not-mother asked, a hint of worry in her voice. Arthur turned to her and flushed when he realized she was waiting for an answer to a question that Arthur hadn't even heard her ask.

 

"I'm sorry, mother," he said quietly, hoping he sounded like an embarrassed child. When he called her 'mother,' Ygraine's face brightened considerably, all his previous sins forgotten. She smiled warmly at him, as if nothing could bring her greater joy. Arthur felt quite guilty for leading this woman on, giving her false hope. This may not have been his mother, hell she may not have even been _real_ , but there was always a chance that she was still a mother. Not _his_ mother, but _a_ mother mourning for her lost child. Arthur was taking advantage of that and he couldn't help but feel like garbage for it.

 

"How about you go lie down for a bit?" she suggested softly, obviously sensing that Arthur's thoughts were certainly elsewhere. She stroked his arm in what he imagined was a motherly way, her hand almost flinching at the neckerchief. He smiled at her again and nodded his agreement.

 

"I'll have Merlin fetch you for dinner," she said as they stood, leaving the servants to clean up what was left. "You'll need your strength for the tournament tomorrow."

 

"Of course mother," Arthur said dutifully. He had no idea if the tournament had already been planned or if it was just another part of the world that was created on a whim. He decided that it didn't matter. What mattered was that he was running out of time to find Merlin. He couldn't afford to waste days in this Well.

 

\--

 

Ywain was very afraid.

 

His search in the library had not been successful. He had found scores of books that discussed stories and legends and various figures that had descended into the Underworld, but nothing about the realm itself.

 

Ywain had moved along, claiming a headache and the need for solitude when Galahad had tried to follow him, to the solar. The solar was a large, circular room with many shelves lined with books. There weren't nearly as many as in the library, but it was still an impressive amount. Most of the books were magic related, which Ywain knew as he spent most of his spare time studying them, but none were related to the realm of the Underworld.

 

The last place Ywain could search was his mother's chambers. There was a small antechamber in her chambers, connecting her boudoir and her bedroom, that had a single shelf of books. There was also a secret door that led down into a chamber filled with an array of items his mother kept squirrelled away, but Ywain wasn't supposed to know about that so he feigned ignorance whenever he could. The books on this shelf were the most prized and the most powerful books of magic his mother had collected. Ywain had never been allowed to even see them, for his mother had feared he would become corrupted by their power.

 

Ywain did not enjoy breaking into his mother's chamber. He knew his mother was paranoid, after all she had a slew of powerful items in her possession, but to enchant your own _chambers_ seemed to be such an extreme length to go.

 

There had been wards and charms and enchantments. Ywain had burned his hand something fierce when he had gripped the latch on the door, triggering an uncontrolled heating charm. The latch would continue to heat up, hotter and more scalding, until Ywain released it. He knew all about uncontrolled charms, charms with no cap, no limits, no rules. They were dangerous and highly unsafe. His blistered hand served as testament to that.

 

He had almost set off a concealed sigil on the floor behind the door. It was a miracle that he saw the slightest sliver of blue paint in the wood before he stepped on it. He couldn't tell the exact purpose of the sigil, as most of it was hidden in the floor, but he could make out the symbols for _ice_  and _submerge_ and frankly, Ywain didn't want to find out what it did.

 

Even the antechamber door had been warded. And the bookcase had been glamoured.

 

Ywain spent nearly an hour flipping through books on the shelf before he managed to see through the glamour and to the _real_ book shelf that was hidden behind a slate of wood in the wall.

 

By the time Ywain finally found the information he needed, he was frankly exhausted. But, he had what he needed. It wasn't a _book_ per say, but rather a journal that his mother had kept. In it she detailed her journeys into the Underworld and all things concerning them.

 

On one page, in neat and tidy script, were the words "The Well of Dreams" and under it was a long entry that went on for a few more pages. Finally, he turned the page and there was an illustration, far too detailed for even his mother's excellent hand. It showed a hideous creature with no eyes, only a long gaping mouth, and two too-long arms that were wrapped around a limp human body.

 

 _"Well Feeders,_ " Ywain read out loud in a whisper to himself. " _Nocturnal creatures that inhabit the dark recesses of the Underworld, usually in underground caverns or in the Wells. The creatures have no sight, relying heavily on their sense of hearing. They feed on the souls of mortal men who are of the living world. In order to preserve their prey, the Feeders cast elaborate illusions of grandeur in a dream state to keep the prey docile. The Feeder always appears in the illusion they cast, as it is the only way to maintain such complex magic. Breaking the illusion of the Feeder is easy enough, the prey must simply wake up. The prey must find the Feeder in the illusion and see past it, only then will consciousness return._

 

"Simply wake up," Ywain repeated to himself before snorting in disbelief. Only his mother would be so cryptic in her own journals and notes. It was as if she knew one day her children would read them and she couldn't resist phrasing everything as a riddle.

 

"What are you doing in here?" his mother's voice said behind him.

 

Ywain nearly jumped out of his skin. For a blinding moment, Ywain was filled with a chilling fear that stiffened his spine and made the blood drain from his face. And then he remembered he was dreaming while a creature of the underworld fed on his soul. And despite that being his mother's voice, it most certainly was _not_ his mother.

 

Ywain turned his head to glare at the illusion. He wondered if this was the Feeder that had him captive.

 

 _See past the illusion_ , Ywain could hear his mother's voice in his head. Ywain stood and turned, facing the illusion of his mother head on. There was a flicker of doubt the his not-mother glared at him in a very good impression of his own mother. Ywain briefly wondered if it really was his mother, but then steeled himself. No, he couldn't allow himself to be tricked, not again.

 

Ywain opened his eyes, _really_ opened them and stared at the woman before him. It looked like his mother, of course, but when he stared at her and let his eyes relax, the lines of her body softening at the edge he could see what she truly was.

 

An illusion.

 

His not-mother had simply blinked out of existence when he looked past her. That meant she wasn't real.

 

"Who is the Feeder?" he asked her, his tone cold and his words clipped. If there was ever a time when Ywaine needed to act like the future ruler of Rheged, now was the time. His not-mother wrinkled her face into an expression that was almost worry.

 

"Stop this now," the not-mother pleaded, almost immediately dropping her act as the queen. "He will be very upset with all of us if you continue this way."

 

There was a pregnant pause where Ywain tried to find the words to command, and she the words to persuade.

 

"Do we not make you happy? Do we not make all your dreams a reality?" she asked softly. Ywain was beginning to see past her, to her true form. The face of his mother began to sag on her frame, her shoulders drooping and her back beginning to slump.

 

"Do you think I want to be king?" Ywain asked her incredulously. Out of all the things Ywain had ever yearned for in life, it was never the crown.

 

"You want to be loved and respected," the misshapen not-mother said matter-factly. "As king, you would be loved the most. Your father would love you and your brother would respect you as the eldest. Here, you don't need to be the forgotten son. We can love you far more than they can."

 

"That may be," Ywain replied softly. He would be a complete liar if he said her words did not strike his core. It was true, he wanted all the things the Well showed him. He wished his father would say he was proud to have Ywain for a son. He wished Galahad would respect him as his elder brother. And yes, he even wished that his mother were sometimes kinder and more affectionate. "But I will never be happy because I would never be able to love you in return.

 

"I love my family, despite their flaws. They are not perfect, and frankly I don't want them to be." Ywain snapped at her. He felt the truth in his words as they poured forth. It gave him strength.

 

The not-mother began to wail like a wounded banshee. Her form began to slump and deteriorate. Soon, there was nothing more than a sentient poppet made of clay standing before him.

 

The creature - creation - cowed before him. She was nothing more than a golem, a shoddy figure made from clay and mud, given life probably through Ywain's own life force. She was slumped and misshapen, with no distinct features on her except for two tiny stones that served as her eyes, and a crack in the mud that served as her mouth.

 

"Which one is the Feeder?" Ywain said again, pulling himself up as tall as he could go, which was just enough to lord himself over her. She shivered as if she were physically intimidate by him.

 

"Please," she groaned. "He will be so _angry_."

 

Ywain frowned. He was clearly getting no where quickly with the golem. It wasn't fair to a creature of mud and dreams. And obviously, the Feeder wielded a much stronger hold on It's creations than Ywain gave it credit for.

 

"Alright," Ywain said quietly, his shoulders slumping forward. "I don't want to make him angry."

 

The not-mother stared at him as if she didn't believe him for a second, and then slowly moved towards him, shifting and warping until she began to look like his mother again. When the still damp clay hands reached for him in the shape of his mother, Ywain smiled at the creature, hoping that his display had made her happy.

 

Then he quickly traced a sigil on her chest and whispered a spell, and her clay like figure began to heat and solidify until cracks and fissures appeared in her half-formed face, chest and hands. The golem was efficiently reduced to nothing more than a stone statue. Ywain sighed and made his way out of the chambers.

 

He was determined to find out which of these illusions was the Feeder.

 

\--

 

Arthur was nervous. Not that he would ever admit such a thing out loud.

 

He was still unsure how many days were left before the Summer Solstice, but the queen had not been lying about the tournament. If there were any doubts in Arthur's mind that this entire world was an illusion - not that there were - he would now believe it.

 

There was no plausible way that _this_ many people could appear in Camelot overnight without him noticing.

 

It was the day of the tournament, and while the castle had been nearly empty the day before except for the normal amount of servants and staff, now the halls were packed with people. There were nobleman and knights and ladies of courts that Arthur had a hard time keeping track of. Normally for a tournament of this magnitude guests would begin to arrive at least a week early to get comfortable.

 

He wasn't sure how he'd been bullied into it, but Arthur was currently set up in a tent in the fields, with the not-Merlin helping him into his armor.

 

"I'm sure you'll be great," Not-Merlin said in a cheerful voice that reminded him painfully of his own Merlin. Arthur wanted to be looking for his Merlin, not here playing in a tournament that was obviously less than real.

 

Somehow, Arthur was able to go through the motions as he had done countless times before, donning his shield and sword and awaiting for the tournament to begin. His father had given a proud speech to those competing, and how his current reigning champion - Arthur of course - was a formidable opponent.

 

Again, Arthur wondered why he was the reigning champion if he had never existed before this, although he'd given up asking not-Merlin, as he received no real reply anyways.

 

The only difference was when Arthur stepped up to take his turn in a fight, the Queen (he'd begun to call her simply the Queen because 'mother' was too painful) had called him to the dais where she and his father sat, both looking proud and regal. When he approached, she held out a silver cloth to him.

 

"For luck," she had said simply, motioning for his arm. He lifted it willingly enough, but when she leaned forward to remove Merlin's neckerchief from his arm, he pulled away.

 

"Arthur," she chided gently. "I only wish to see you wear my colors this once. After the tournament, I'll happily return it to you."

 

Arthur was reluctant to take the neckerchief off. It was sometimes the only thing that reminded him that this world was not real. He felt that if it somehow came off, that he wouldn't remember.

 

"You'll return it to me?" he asked her. He knew he sounded like a child, but he didn't care. The Queen smiled her gentle smile and nodded.

 

"I promise," she said for good measure. With that, Arthur lifted his arm and allowed her to remove the neckerchief and replace it with the shimmering silver cloth. When Arthur went to the field, he almost felt a swell of pride and wearing his mother's colors.

 

So wrapped up in his swelling heart, he missed the dark look that passed over the Queen's face as she passed the neckerchief to not-Merlin.

 

"I don't care how you dispose of it, but I do not ever want to see it again," the Queen said with poison on her tongue. Not-Merlin nodded meekly, as he often did around her, and scurried away, the neckerchief clutched in his hands.

 

Arthur went through the motions well enough. No matter who his opponent, Arthur could swing his sword and lift his shield, block and parry, move quickly left than right. No matter who stepped against him, they always fell quickly, which was normal for most tournaments.

 

What wasn't normal however was the surge of pride he felt after each one fell. Normally Arthur would be filled with a grim satisfaction, but never pride. After every match, the Queen would cheer loudly, a broad grin on her face. Every time he saw her, Arthur pretended just for a second that this was normal. He relished in the one difference. Once the tournament was over, Arthur could come back to reality and his search for Merlin, but for now he decided to indulge himself in this fantasy.

 

Uther had always given him a knowing look when he laid out an opponent, as if he expected nothing less from Arthur. There was never pride in his gaze, only a knowing, as if Arthur could have done nothing except win. Ygraine on the other hand - the Queen, Arthur quickly corrected himself - was completely different. No matter how many times Arthur won a match, her cheers were loud and strong, her smile bright and her hands clapping furiously as if she couldn't contain her joy.

 

It made Arthur blush and duck his head each time to hide the stupid smile on his face.

 

When Arthur had finally defeated his last opponent, holding his title of reigning champion, the Queen had leapt from her seat in joy. Arthur could have sworn he could hear her voice loud and clear despite the roaring of all those around him.

 

It thrilled him. He felt loved by all of those around him, his mother included.

 

The Queen, he meant. Not his mother.

 

\--

 

Ywain tried to be confident as he moved through the castle corridors. Whoever the Feeder was in this illusion was obviously aware that Ywain was making a fuss. After exiting his mother's chambers he noticed that the entire castle had become quiet subdued.

 

The servants stared at him with a tinge of worry on their faces instead of the bright smiles and warm greetings. The flames on the torches and in the fireplaces seemed to burn quietly, if that were even a thing.

 

Even the stone walls of the castle seemed colder somehow.

 

When he entered the council chamber, his father and brother were both present. They both looked up, almost startled when he approached, as if he were the very thing they had been discussing.

 

Ywain had retrieved an ornate, and no doubt magickal sword, from his mother's chambers on his way out. Ywain wasn't quite sure about the magickal properties of the sword, which he knew was rather stupid and incredibly reckless, he simply hoped he didn't accidently blow something up. His mother would never let him hear the end of it. Ywain was never good with swords like his father or his brother. He could hold his own against bandits for sure, but he's be laughing stock in a tournament.

 

Still, they eyed him warily as he approached, brandishing the sword in front of him.

 

"What is the meaning of this Ywain?" His father asked coldly. Ywain wasn't fooled. He could hear the slight tremor in his voice. The Feeder had been found out and he knew it. Ywain should have known the Feeder would make itself a king in it's illusions. Ywain pointed his sword at the king.

 

"I know you're the Feeder," Ywain said in his most intimidating voice. The king cringed a little and exchanged a look with Galahad. Galahad stepped back with a blank face, backing away from their father. Ywain didn't blame the no-doubt clay creation to abandon it's maker.

 

"Child," his not-father began, stepping forward with a strong gait, as if to swipe Ywain on the back of the head for daring to be so disobedient. "What is this nonsense?"

 

Ywain stood his ground, leveling in sword carefully as the man approached.

 

"You will release me from this illusion," Ywain said as coolly as he could. The king in front of him wore the same expression of alarm as his not-mother had. The kings eyes darted back and forth as if looking for an escape.

 

"Ywain," the man started slowly. "Do not-"

 

Ywain didn't allow him to finish. He quickly chanted a fire spell, pushing with his magic until the flames curled and licked around his blade. Then Ywain hurled the sword from his hands, driving it through the Feeder.

 

The not-king looked stunned for a moment and then slumped into the sword and went still. Ywain waited. He had killed the manifestation of the feeder in the illusion, and any second now he should wake up in the Well.

 

But he didn't.

 

Ywain frowned as he watched the body of the feeder shift. Just as it had happened with the illusion of his mother, the king began to dry and crack and slowly fall away until he was an unrecognizable lump of rock. Ywain slowly approached the still rock form and reached for his sword. Confusion swirled in his head. If his father hadn't been the Feeder, than who was?

 

Ywain was so busy turning over the various possibilities in his head, he didn't even notice that Galahad still stood off to the side, his face unnaturally blank and cold. His brothers doppelganger slowly moved away from the wall where he had skunk when Ywain approached with his sword.

 

"This will be so much easier if you don't fight it," the false Galahad spoke. Ywain whirled around until his eyes found the speaker. He paused when he saw Galahad, as if just remembering he was there. Suddenly Ywain remembered his mother whispering to him when he saw her in her tower when he initially woke up here.

 

_Keep your eye on Galahad._

 

Ywain felt foolish. She had given him a clue, downright told him the answer to his problem, and yet he was still unable to see it. In his mind all Ywain could see was the sad disappointment on her face when she said _I was afraid you would get stuck here_. His mother had so little doubt in him that she had told him who the Feeder was outright and here he was proving her doubts correct.

 

"I never understand why you mortals fight," not-Galahad said nonchalantly, ignoring the internal berating that Ywain was issuing himself. "We are able to give you every thing you've ever desired in the world, and yet you fight to get away."

 

"That's because you want to eat us," Ywain snapped. The prince inched himself back to where his sword was still imbedded in the golem of his father. If Ywain could keep the Feeder distracted long enough to get his sword…

 

Galahad shrugged, but gave him a sad look. For a brief moment, Ywain could almost believe that this was Galahad, his brother who actually cared for him. Almost.

 

"You'll die some day anyways. Why not be happy before you die?"

 

"Because it isn't real," Ywain scowled at his brother's imposter. The fake Galahad shrugged again.

 

"I suppose I'll just have to weave a stronger illusion," it said thoughtfully. "Force you to forget that this is an illusion."

 

"Not likely," Ywain snapped, whispering a few quick words to conjure a fireball in his hand. He hurled the fireball at Galahad, effectively catching the Feeder off guard. As the Galahad hurriedly dodge the fireball, Ywain turned quickly and yanked his sword from the misshapen stone that had once been his father. Ywain turned to face the imposter.

 

The not-Galahad seemed increasingly irritated as the Feeder growled.

 

"You forget this is my world," the Feeder snapped. "It obeys me, even if you won't!"

 

Before Ywain had a chance to launch forward with his sword, the world violently shifted to the side. Ywain stumbled to the side, off-balance, and in a scramble to find something to cling to, carelessly dropped his sword.

 

Ywain slid along the floor as the room began to flip itself upside down. It was a slow turn, but it was strange, gravity working against him. Every time Ywain stood up, he felt like a colt learning to walk for the first time. Finding his balance was impossible and his legs wobbled with the effort. Ywain knew he looked ridiculous with his arms flailing at his sides as he scrambled for a hold on something solid. Unfortunately for Ywain, nothing in the room was bolted to the floor.

 

Eventually Ywain hit the wall, but the room continued it's slow turn, tables and candles and even embers from the fires tumbling down all around him. Ywain twisted and turned, dodged as much as he could, luckily avoiding any major damage. There were coals that burned him, his arms and hands and legs, there was even a chair that landed hard on his leg.

 

The room continued it's slow rotation. Galahad was slowly walking along the walls, carefree, easily sidestepping any tumbling debris, while Ywain scrambled to keep himself upright. Once again Ywain felt himself losing his balance, finally tumbling down onto the ceiling, which was now strangely the floor. There were broken tables and chairs all heaped together, slowly rolling and crashing their way towards him as if they were trying to swallow him whole. Candlesticks and curtains and still burning coals rolled under his feet.

 

Finally the world ceased it's rotation, and Ywain was left on the ceiling. He craned his head up to see the Feeder with its feet planted firmly on the stone floor high above his head. The Feeder smiled up at him, a grin made of nothing but teeth. Ywain felt a sudden pitch in his stomach, as if he had jumped from a high place.

 

Slowly, the debris around him tumbled upward in a strange parody of falling. Piece by piece the broken tables and candles tumbled to the floor around the feeder, and suddenly Ywain realized what was going to happen. The Prince scrambled to try and grip onto one of the large beams that held up the roof, but the moment his feet left the ceiling, he could feel gravity wrap around his feet, hauling him down.

 

Ywain crashed back down to the floor hard, the rest of the broken furniture on the ceiling falling with him. Too weak to dodge them, Ywain covered his head as best he could while being pummeled by shards of wood and pewter and wax.

 

Not-Galahad laughed as Ywain struggled to right himself, wood chips digging deep into his palms.

 

"You have no hope of fighting me," Not-Galahad said. "I control this world. I can outmatch you in everyway."

 

Ywain ignored his torn and scratched body and glared at the Feeder. The young Prince realized the creature was correct. The only way Ywain would escape this world was to break the illusion. Ywain righted himself and stared at the Feeder. He stared deeply, willing the illusion to break, trying to catch a glimpse of what he was really staring at.

 

"Stop that," the Feeder hissed, taking heavy steps towards Ywain. The Prince let his eyes relax, looking past the Feeder and the grand illusion of this castle. The world flickered. For a brief moment Ywain was back in his body. He could feel the slick arms of the feeder wrapped around him, felt the cold stone of the well underneath him and he heard the slow trickle of water echo all around him.

 

The illusion swarmed his vision again, placing him in the castle once more, but Ywain could still feel the grip of the feeder and could still hear it's growl. Ywain clung to his senses, willing his mind to pull himself out. Finally the illusion broke again and when Ywain felt the soft earth of the Well beneath him, the Prince used all his strength to yank himself away from the feeders slimy grasp.

 

It took more than one try. Ywain pulled and pulled against the tightening arms of the feeder. The Prince could feel wet dirt caking itself under his nails as he clawed desperately at the ground underneath him. Finally, when Ywain snapped back into his body, he was able to groan out a fire spell. He gripped one of the arms and willed the fire to catch. The second the fire darted up the limb, the feeder wailed and it's grip slackened.

 

Ywain used the last burst of energy he had to scramble out of its grip. His hands scrambled over the soft soil of the well until he found a stone wall. Ywain pressed his back against it until he couldn't feel the feeder reaching for him anymore.

 

The feeder was still growling softly, angry at losing it's prey. Wary of not being able to see, Ywain conjured a small glowing ball of light and cast it upward. Slowly the well was illuminated and he could see the feeder clearly.

 

Ywain shivered. It was an ugly creature, faceless and gray, attached to the walls of the well like a grotesque ivy plant. When the ball of light bobbed close to it, Ywain thought the Feeder would strike out at it, but instead the creature shied from the light, shrinking in on itself like a flower closing it's petals.

 

The light bobbed around the well and Ywain could count four, maybe five feeders attached to the wells walls. Each one shied away from the light, all except for one. This last feeder hissed at the light, but it's tentacles were wrapped tight around something- someone - and it seemed more determined to hold onto it's prey than defend itself against the light.

 

When the light floated closer, Ywain could see the body and he felt an icy feeling make its way down his spine as the fear gripped him.

 

"Arthur," Ywain hissed. The other Prince hung limply in the feeders grasp, completely unresponsive. Ywain tried to call to him again, but at the sound of his voice, the other Feeders roused, looking for the source, all their limbs reaching out to find him. Ywain pressed himself deeper into the fissure in the wall, safely out of their reach. He watched the Feeder holding Arthur tighten it's hold on the prince, snarling it's teeth at him, as if it could see Ywain in the darkness.

 

For a brief moment, Ywain wondered what would happen when he ran out of food. What would happen to him when he was too weak to cast his magic? He would be easy prey for the Feeders, and he wouldn't have the energy to fight a second time. Unless Ywain could figure out a way to get that Feeder to release it's hold on Arthur, they were doomed.

 

"Please don't be dead," Ywain whimpered, the reality of their situation finally crashing into him. "Arthur!"

 

What the hell was he going to do?


End file.
